Three Heads of the Dragon 3: A Reign of Chaos
by Rougeification
Summary: SYOC. The Seven Kingdoms erupt into a civil war. On one hand, Aeron Targaryen, eldest son of Rhaegon Targaryen whom sits on the Iron Throne. On the other, Viserys Targaryen, last trueborn son of Rhaegon and Vysella Targaryen. The North sits in the clutches of Alvar Bolton and his son, Raff, while across the Narrow Sea, Evie Stark travels to find her half-brother, Finn Snow.
1. Wardens of the North

**Well, as promised, the first chapter. This story is pretty, ah… well, personally, it's my favourite out of all of them. At least, I think it will be.**

 **Now, a massive thank you to everyone that followed, favourited and reviewed the two first stories,** _ **A Crown of Bones**_ **and** _ **A Realm of Ashes**_ **– if you haven't read them yet, you may want to do so before starting to read this one.**

 **As for characters needed – the Night's Watch. I need characters for that – Rangers, Stewards, Recruits and, of course, the First Ranger and the Lord Commander. Bear in mind that at this time, the Night's Watch is a prestigious, elite force to be reckoned with.**

 **And, of course, feel free to send in some Wildlings, as they are going to be another major faction.**

 **Raff Bolton – The Dreadfort, The North**

How foolish they all were. The famously loyal Starks and their bannermen. Markas thought that he could lead his forces against me. Then he was fucking empty-headed enough to challenge me to single combat.

My father thought I was a simple creature, that I would have accepted the Stark boy's offer to prove my honour to all the Northmen. But I was not just a simple Northmen – I was raised by the Krakens of the Iron Islands.

I didn't care about honour. I cared about fear. And after today, I would make sure that they all feared me.

I dragged the boy out of the battlements by his dark hair. He began to stumble and fall, his hands chained together. I took out my thin knife and pressed it to his throat, looking out at the Northern army that stood ready to charge. Led by that bloodthirsty Red Cedric Glover.

"Men of the North," I addressed them, "behold, your noble Lord!" I threw the boy onto the ground, a chain from his waist wrapped up around my arm. A little wolf cub… so scared and horrified. The last of his line.

"What do you want, Bolton?" Lord Reed spoke first.

"What do I want?" I crossed my arms, tapping my chin with the hilt of my blade. "A nice big castle, a pretty bride… and dominion over our inferiors!" I let out a chuckle. "Come, Red Cedric. If you charge, your Lord shall die. The House of Stark will end."

Red Cedric's rough cheeks hid his green eyes, which settled upon Markas, a boy covered in mire and blood, his hair tangled and sodden with grease. Red Cedric took several steps forwards.

"He's your only bargaining tool, Bolton," Red Cedric shook his head, "You wouldn't kill him."

I let out a laugh at this. The old codger had clearly never come across anyone like me before. And I knew why – there wasn't anyone like me. I grabbed Markas by the hair and dragged him up to his feet, placing my knife at his throat. "Red Cedric, I'll kill him. I _want_ to kill him. And when I'm done with him, I'll come for your daughters. I'll come for your sons. Your houses will suffer from the same fate as the Starks!"

I took the knife and began to carve my way around Markas' ear. I pried it behind the soft skin and began to saw the tip of the knife through the base of his right ear. He kept his mouth shut, but let out pained gasps through his nose and muffled screams through gritted teeth. I looked at the poor boy, blood streaming down to his shoulder. "You're trying to be brave aren't you?" The boy's eyes looked up at me. "Oh," I chuckled, "there's no point to that."

Red Cedric let out a command and his men began to make ready to charge. The Stark men nocked their arrows and began to draw, as did my own men. I finished removing the Stark boy's ear and let him fall to the ground, throwing the ear to Red Cedric.

"You've failed your little Lord, Red Cedric," I began to walk towards Markas, twirling my blade in my hands as I came closer, "just as you failed his father."

"If you kill me," Markas spluttered, "you'll die too."

"Then let's depart together," I grinned into his ear.

I leant down and held Markas by the hair again, pressing my blade to his neck. I held him in front of me, and Red Cedric held up a hand, halting his army from advancing. Cretin. He was burdened by loyalty. By an oath. How like a dog.

"Something the matter, Red Cedric?"

"Spare our Lord."

"Glover-" Markas coughed. I silenced him by slapping the flat side of my blade against his neck.

"You were saying, Red Cedric?"

Red Cedric balled his large hands into fists as he locked eyes with the boy. That balding mess of fiery hair fading from his head bent forwards as he knelt, his hands shaking violently. "By the ancient laws of combat, you have won the claims of House Stark," Glover kept his eyes on my latest pet, "but there is no need to kill the boy now."

I looked down at the boy, thick and dark blood soaked his matted dark hair and smudged along his jaw. I turned back to Red Cedric. "I suppose you're right…" I muttered, grasping my hands behind my back as I saw that one-by-one, each of the Stark bannermen began to bend the knee. Not to my father or to my sister, but to me. Lord Raff Bolton.

 **Viserys Targaryen – The Eyrie, The Vale of Arryn**

"Allegiance?" I pondered the word, looking out across the Vale. A kingdom of clouds, rain, hard stone and mountains. Nothing like the soft, wet Riverlands or the bustling cities of the Crownlands. No, the Vale was ancient and noble, as were their Houses. I turned around to face Lord Arryn. "Your ancestors swore fealty to mine."

"They did. They also happen to be King Aeron's ancestors," Rowen leaned back in his throne, "who is also of my land."

"He killed my brother."

"So you say," Rowen nodded.

"Do you accuse me of something, Ser?"

Lord Rowen shook his head, "Of course not, Your Grace. But the word of one king is equal to another."

I turned to face Lord Rowen, clasping my hands. "Do you think me a liar, My Lord?"

Lord Rowen began to fiddle with a small sapphire ring on his left hand, his eyes set upon me. "No," he said after a moment, "no, I do not, Your Grace."

"Have you pledged allegiance to Aeron yet?"

"Not yet," Lord Rowen said slowly, roving his gaze over to a tall, muscular woman. Her eyes were a bright and hard blue, her lips thin and her nose long. A curved scar ran along her cheek – clean and healed – wounded by a sword, no doubt. She was clad in dark breeches and a leather gambeson. Nothing at all like Visenya's flowing hair or Haylise's delicate beauty.

Haylise… the thought stuck in my head like some plague I could not be cured of. Haylise… what Aeron had done to her. Her home. Her family. I may not had been happy being married to her but… I wanted to be, now.

But then… Ashriel. Gods, what had happened to Ashriel? Aeron couldn't have killed her – she was his sister, by law. No… she had to be alive - I knew she was alive. If she was gone, I would have felt it. For she was to me what air was to anyone else. Regardless of my feelings for Haylise… Ashriel and I were one and the same.

"Not yet?" I dragged my attention back to the situation at hand.

"Indeed… Aeron's mother, the Lady Dyanne, sent a raven. Aeron has invited me to King's Landing to bend the knee."

I felt my jaw drop. "You can't!" I insisted. "The man's an animal! A kin-slayer, a usurper-"

"He sits on the Iron Throne," Lord Rowen replied, "Each king would bid me to fight the other."

"I am the trueborn son of Rhaegon and Vysella Targaryen."

"Aeron was legitimized. And he is older, is he not? The law is clear…"

"He killed my brother," I cried, "he should be stripped of all inheritance. As is the law." Lord Rowen thumbed his chin. "What gives you pause?"

"Why do I tarry before declaring war against the throne?"

I bit my lip; I suppose I had not thought about this. But Lord Rowen needed to know my intentions. "I never wanted to be king," I informed him, "Draegor was the heir. Laena would have been queen. But Aeron killed my brother. The townsfolk rose against him and tried to assassinate him. He does not understand what it means to be a king. He razed Storm's End and Winterfell."

Lord Rowen nodded, "He did… he slaughtered innocents…" Lord Rowen rose from his chair, his fingers stroking the sapphire gem on his finger as he looked to the tall woman, "but your ancestor, Visenya…"

"Your ancestor bent the knee," I reminded him, "he was a boy."

"I do not hold you responsible for the actions of your ancestors, Your Grace," Rowen bowed his head, "though we both know what she would have done to that boy should he had refused to surrender his birth right." Rowen didn't understand. He wasn't there, and neither was I. But we were Targaryens… we had the Dragon's blood. We were different to the Westerosi. They warred for years, and we united them. Only by uniting all the kingdoms under one leader could there be peace. If one kingdom refused to follow, all would have. And that would have led to nothing but another age of war between the kingdoms.

"Forgive me, Your Grace," Lord Rowen rose from his chair, "I must excuse this matter as I am famished. I invite you to join me and my daughters for some food."

I wanted to push him back into his chair and tell him this matter was too urgent and had to be settled. But I was a guest in his home. And I needed his help. I bit my tongue and bowed my head before following him into his great hall.

 **Ser Edgar Sand – The Red Keep, King's Landing, The Crownlands**

The throne room was large, filled with all sorts of nobles. Pink-skinned and soft. I stood beside a pillar, my arms crossed as I kept my eyes on Aeron. He was handsome, in a traditional way. Face sharp like a knife. He lounged in the throne, examining the approaching peasant that held his hat in both hands.

"Y'Grace," the peasant bowed his head and knelt. Aeron rested his jaw in one hand and waved the other so the peasant rose, "M' name is Gestin. I… I's come to ask you…" He put his hand to his face and began to blubber. Such a child… "M' sister, Daisy. Worked a' the Goldfinch in Gin Alley," he sniffled, "ripped apar' she was."

"By a dog?" Aeron narrowed his eyes.

"No, Y'Grace," He sniffed, "by a customer. She were a whore, sire. Beggin' y'pardon, sire."

"My condolences," Aeron bowed his head. "Did she have children?"

"Yessire, two bastard girls."

Aeron nodded. "I'll see that they are given jobs in the kitchens. Lord Lannister, you can see this done, can you not?"

"I…" Lord Lannister opened his mouth, only to be interrupted by the commoner, Gestin.

"A thousand blessin's on you, Y'Grace, but 'ats not why I's here," Gesting took a quivering breath, "it's the third time it's 'appened. In Fleabottom, sire."

"The third?" Aeron frowned. He turned to the Lord Commander of the City Watch. A man in his thirties, with a pretty gold cloak and a pretty brown beard. "What are you doing about this, My Lord?"

The Lord Commander frowned, "…It's Fleabottom sire."

"Do you have any daughters?"

"I… one, Your Grace."

"And what would you do if this happened to them?" Aeron raised an eyebrow as the pretty little knight kept quiet. His violet eyes drifted over to me. "Ser."

All the eyes in the room shifted to me. I frowned, looking behind me to see if they were looking at someone else. I then remembered I was now a knight, as the Westerosi were so fond of. I walked from the pillar and approached the throne, standing next to that lumbering beast, Ser Mikal Drake.

"You desire a place on my Kingsguard, is this so?"

"It is, Your Grace."

"Then I charge you to journey into Fleabottom. Find this mindless killer, and bring him before me. Do so, and you shall be justly rewarded."

"At once, Your Grace." I plunged into a deep bow.

"Lord Commander, how many of the City Watch can you spare?"

"I'd prefer to be on my own, Your Grace," I quickly insisted. "Golden cloaks in this… Fleabottom? May gain me nothing but attention."

Aeron nodded. "As you are, Ser Edgar."

I bowed again, glancing my eyes at the foul, oath-breaking Mikal Drake, before leaving the throne room to find myself a murderer.

 **Julian – The Kingsroad, The Riverlands**

I crouched down by the stream, dipping my hands into the water and splashing it upon the back of my neck. I stretched out my legs and sat down, peeling off my boots. I turned to the other recruits, seeing them examine each other's blades, taking practice swings at some imaginary foe.

My mind swept back to when I would do that in the forge. Roto would always give me some backhanded compliment. Something like "I wish I was as determined as you… you're still trying to get better…"

I swallowed the memory and lay back in the grass; How long would it be until I felt grass again? I tried to remember the feeling of it; wet and sodden, small pools of water pressed from it under the weight of my calloused hands.

"Enjoying the warm?" I turned around to see Kenn Stark there. Greying hair and wiry frame as he walked towards me, absent of his thick cloak.

"It isn't warm," I stated.

Kenn chuckled, "Spend some time at the Wall, and this may well be Dorne to you."

I gulped at the thought. I hadn't thought much about the cold. I'd been more preoccupied with standing on top of a seven-hundred-foot-tall wall of ice. Or the Wildlings. I wasn't young enough to still believe in Grumpkins and Snarks and Wight Walkers, but I was sure that strange things lay beyond the Wall. Strange things that were better off being left as myths to the rest of us.

"You still sure about this, lad?" Kenn caught sight of my face, "It's no easy life, you know?"

"I know."

"Then what's stopping you from jumping off that cart and running to Oldtown?"

"Besides giving you my word?" He nodded. I cast my memory back to the Witch-Child in Fleabottom… the words she had spoken to me. I was the Champion… whatever that meant. "I think that this is…" I stuttered, trying to find the right words, "w-what I'm meant to do."

Kenn nodded slowly, flicking his tongue over his lip from beneath his beard and narrowing his eyes at me. "You're one of that sort then."

"That sort?" I frowned.

"A glory-seeker. We've a few of them in the Watch…"

"No," I shook my head, "It's… I know it sounds bloody stupid but I was told by this… this witch. She said that I had to come here. Well, to the Sept. She told me that 'the Wolf' will guide me."

Kenn continued to chew his tongue, eyes steady on me before he took his gloves from his belt, pulling them on. "Aye," He muttered, "that is fucking stupid," He turned around to the other men of the Watch, "Get your fucking arses back on that cart! It's a hard to Riverrun before sundown, and the rain clouds are gathering!"

 **Lord Commander Mikal Drake – Fishmonger's Square, King's Landing, The Crownlands**

Aeron had bid me escort his Queen, Delyth Tyrell, to the Fishmonger's Square, to watch over her giving gold dragons to the poor. I stood beside her, a hand resting on the hilt of my knife as I flickered my eyes across the approaching masses. Beside me, stood Ser Fillan of the Crow's Wood. He was an able warrior, and had been one of the Kingsguard whom protected Rhaegon during the Ironborn Raids two decades ago. Sadly, the man was becoming old and slowing.

And then, I heard a tune; a song being hummed. It was an old one, one I'd not heard in my time in King's Landing, not since the days where I'd known Daisy. It was the song of my House's defeat. And, what with my Kingsguard oaths, it seemed that this song, _the Plight of Drakes_ , was all that remained. That, and my Meat Cleaver – the axe engraved with ancient runes. The last piece ever forged at Drake Castle before it crumbled near a decade ago.

The woman that hummed the song had a head of red hair, in decorative plaits. Sky blue eyes, sun-kissed skin. She wore a dulled rose dress, carrying a loaf of bread in a basket. Those shining blue eyes glanced across to me, and she smiled. I couldn't help but recognize Daisy's smile in her. And then I began to turn sad, remembering Daisy's bloodied neck, staining my hands. A knife with a stag's head still clutched by one of the many men I'd slaughtered.

Then I felt nothing but rage.

"Can I help you, Ser?" The woman smiled at me, resting one hand on her hip.

"I…" I shook my head, trying to centre myself, "That song you sing. Where did you learn it?"

"As a bard, I try to know as many songs as I can, Ser." She bit her lip, looking me up and down. "You're him, aren't you? Ser Mikal Drake, the Butcher."

"I am," I nodded stiffly. Most men would have shied away at the name. But I wore it as proudly as the three-headed dragon upon my steel armour. It was a promise to my enemies, and those of King Aeron's.

"Used to handling lots of meat, then?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Cleaving it, more often."

"For the honour of King Aeron?"

"He is our King," I replied, "and a finer one than an Oathbreaker like Viserys Targaryen."

"My, my, my, you should be the town crier!" She chuckled. "I'm Cara."

"Cara." I smiled at the name.

"Hill," She said eventually.

"Hill?" A bastard?

"My father is a Reyne of Castamere."

"Reynes…" I sniffed at the name; King Aeron's Lord Hand, Lucian Lannister, held very little love for them, and as the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, I too held next to nought.

"Not all of us are lucky enough to have the right mother."

"I have no mother," I replied. I turned back to see my Queen Delyth had wandered further away with Ser Fillan. "Forgive me, My Lady, I must return to my duties."

"I'm no Lady," Cara reminded me.

"Not yet," I couldn't help but flash a smile back at her. The first time I'd smiled in a long time. I couldn't remember the last time I had been so aware of the absence of thoughts of revenge or memories of pure, unaltered grief.

"The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, suggesting notions like that to a bastard minstrel?" She laughed. "I think I have my next song to write."

"You shall have to entertain me with it when you are able."

"There shall be some entertaining, yes, Ser," She grinned and turned away to leave. Before she left, she gave me one final look and a smile.

A smile full like Daisy's.

 **This took ages to write – mainly because I have a summer job and also because I wanted to add in more characters to catch you up with where we are with the story.**

 **Let me know what you think, put in predictions, send in men of the Night's Watch as well as Wildlings… and yeah. Don't forget to follow to keep up to date!**

 **So, I've been looking forward to writing the next chapter for ages. It'll be up when it's ready but I can give you the name of it:** _ **The Pack Survives**_ **, and it will take place in King's Landing, Riverrun, the Dreadfort and Braavos.**


	2. The Pack Survives

**Well, this chapter is bittersweet… I'm not sure how I feel about it but… yeah. Let me know your thoughts on everything.**

 **Also, don't worry about plotlines in case you think I've forgotten about them. If I haven't written about someone it's because I didn't really want to spend time on people travelling without disturbances. Maybe I should have but… well, it's in the past. But I haven't forgotten about certain characters *wink*.**

 **As I said before, Wildlings and Men of the Night's Watch would be great! Bear in mind, that the Night's Watch is a force to be reckoned with during this time. It's still seen as an honourable cause and lots of Nobles choose to join.**

 **What else, what else… oh yeah, so I'm not sure how frequent updates will be. I'm trying to press on with it, but I have a part-time job and a social life to juggle it with. I'll try to write at least a good chunk of a chapter each day, but sometimes I'll be able to write a full chapter like today, and sometimes I'll be too busy or too tired and so on.**

 **Please remember to follow and favourite (if you so wish) but reviews really do spurn me on to write. It's always great to know who's reading!**

 **Without any further ado, let's start** _ **The Pack Survives**_ **…**

 **Ryleigh Baratheon – The Black Cells, The Red Keep, King's Landing, The Crownlands**

It was dark. Rats squeaked and scurried around me, making me flinch and pull my knees up to my chest with a panicked gasp. I could feel my lip tremble as I tried not to cry. But I wasn't my brother, Baldinar. And I was not my father. They were strong warriors – the Baratheons everyone knew. I was just a child. I'd never be like them.

I pushed my eyes into my knees and began to sob: I wished I would just wake up. None of this could be real – none of it! I wanted to wake up and see Haylise telling me I was late to Maester Ayric's lessons. But, no matter how many times I would scrunch up my eyes and open them, I was greeted only by the darkness. The wet tiles that pressed through my clothes.

I just wanted to go home.

"Don't cry," I heard a voice, coming from the wall beside me. But no man or woman sat there – just the brick walls. I crawled away from the wall, certain some awful spectre had come to haunt me.

"Who's there?" I asked in a croak.

"I'm a wolf," the voice spoke. "Who are you?"

"I'm…" I paused, unsure if I should give my name or not. I'd heard commonfolk talk of ghosts – giving one your name would give them control of you. "I'm a stag."

"A stag?" The voice was followed by a shuffling. Though nothing in my cell moved. "My sister wed a stag."

"Where are you?"

"In a chamber," the voice was a boy's, definitely, "it's dark in here." I crept closer, and found a crumbling brick, I began to pull at some of it. "Is that you doing that?" The wolf asked me.

"It is." He was in the cell next to me. I felt no relief, however, and began to wonder about the prisoner. "Why are you here?"

"The dragon," he said, "it burnt my home to the ground."

"Your home?" I crawled back to the wall, "You're from Storm's End?"

"No, my home is- was Winterfell."

"Winterfell?" I remembered Evie's ashen hair, flint-grey eyes and dainty frame. "You're Evie's brother."

"Who are you?"

"I," I coughed, feeling quite awkward for some reason, "I'm her husband. Ryleigh."

There was a silence. "You said Storm's End was razed too?"

"Yes."

"Evie?"

I sighed. Truth be told, I hadn't the faintest idea whether Evie had survived. She was nice… I hoped she had. "I don't know," I confessed. "Who burnt Winterfell? Aeron? The King?"

"It was a woman."

"That must be Laena. The Princess." I sighed, rubbing my head. "How old are you?"

"Ten."

I nodded. "We'll get out of this, Little Wolf, don't fret."

"Wolves don't fret."

I couldn't help but smile at this, "No, of course not."

 **Aeron Targaryen – The Red Keep, King's Landing, The Crownlands**

I poured two glasses of Arbor Red before turning back to mother, who sat on the balcony overlooking King's Landing. She had aged well, I suppose, late into her fourth decade. We didn't particularly look alike, with her dark golden hair and warm hazel eyes. Though, it was from her that I had learnt how to carry myself with confidence and grace. Lady Baelish… my humble beginnings.

"When can I expect a scolding?"

"I thought better of you, Aeron."

"Now, then? Let me pour myself two cups…"

"This isn't a game," mother leant forwards, "if you are to keep the Iron Throne, you must keep your allies happy. Wedding one and bedding another is not the way to do that-"

"Didn't expect to hear that, coming from you…" I raised an eyebrow. Mother cast her eyes down before looking over King's Landing. She always grew sad when her relationship with my father was mentioned. "I'm sorry," I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, "I didn't mean that."

"It's true, regardless," She said, somewhat stiffly and quietly, sipping the wine and sighing. "There's many rumours about you."

"Aren't there always rumours about a King?"

"They say you killed Draegor." I remembered it well. His dulled eyes, his long hair, how he sat in his bed, helpless like an elderly cripple.

"And?" I stood up from my chair, leaning on the balcony.

"Is it true?"

"Would it still be a rumour if it was?"

"I'm not sparring words with you, Aeron, tell me." I set down my wine and let out a shrug. Mother put her face in her hands.

"He was a fool. He wasn't fit to lead…"

"I don't want to hear your reasons, Aeron." She looked up at me, eyes fixated on me as if she were a statue.

"Disappointed?"

"Do I need to say it?"

"Who's sparring words now?" I drank some more wine, "But this is all mine now! I'm King of the Seven Kingdoms! An heir will be born soon… I've done it, mother."

"Indeed…" Mother sipped her wine again, "Of course I am proud of you, Aeron," She stood up, wrapping her arms around me, "I'm always proud of you." She finally pulled away, "But this… Lady Theadosia… I know what she wants. Better than any other."

"I'm well aware, mother."

"And what if Delyth finds out?"

"It won't happen again."

"You say that now, but it'll be a different story when your breeches are around your ankles and her legs are around your waist."

"Mother!"

"You can never be alone with her again, Aeron. Promise me."

 **Visenya Targaryen – Riverrun, The Riverlands**

I nodded my thanks to the young girl who was my cup bearer and sipped the Arbor Gold before taking a bite of the wild duck. I hadn't had it before, but it certainly seemed to be one of my favourites.

I turned back to Lady Cecilia to hear the rest of her story about Mellie's skill at embroidery. I didn't particularly care as to whether little Mellie Tully could make a dress or not, but I politely nodded and appeared to engage. What Viserys failed to understand was that these subtle conversations could win more wars than a hundred battles.

"My Lady," I leant in as soon as Lady Ceclia finished her story, "tell me plainly, why does Lord Bryce not ready his armies? What can I give him?"

"Bryce?" Lady Cecilia's eyes drifted across the Hall and settled on the small boy that sat on the table by the castellan and steward. A small boy with auburn hair and bright blue eyes. The boy that I had seen previously – Bryce's bastard son.

"He cares for his bastard?" I asked.

"He does, Your Grace." Lady Cecilia nodded, "In fact, I believe he intends to broach the subject of legitimization with you."

"He does?" I raised an eyebrow, looking back to the bastard. I'd say that, out of Draegor, Laena, Viserys and I, I was the closest to Aeron. He often presented himself well in court, and knew his courtesies and manners. I suppose that made me feel more responsible; As even though I held the most love for my half-brother, I still did not see him as a Targaryen. Perhaps if I had tried to, things may have been different.

Or perhaps the rumours of bastardy were true: born of lust and base passions, they were predisposed to sin and sacrilege.

By legitimizing this Brandon Rivers, what would happen? Would the Riverlands fall into civil war, with little Mellie Tully on one hand and Brandon on the other? Or would Brandon slaughter her in her sleep? He was, after all, a bastard. Of course, he did not seem to hold any such ambitions in his heart, though neither did Aeron.

"And Brandon would rule after his father?"

"I'm…" Lady Cecilia looked across to her daughter, who unenthusiastically poked her knife at her duck. "I'm afraid we have not discussed this."

"See that you do," I replied, "I shan't present the notion to my brother until these details have been clarified."

I looked back to the Little Mellie Tully, her waves of red and copper hair as she slowly roved her father's large blue eyes around the Hall. Her fingers began to drum a tune along the table. I smiled – I used to be like that when I was quite young. She'd attended 8 of her name days, and so should have been further along in learning her courtesies, but she had the means to grow into a beauty. Aside from the thin lips and the large ears she hid beneath her copper hair.

The doors at the end of the Hall opened and in marched a handful of men. The man in front was wiry and lean, grey-haired with ragged cheeks.

"Begging your pardon, My Lord," the man said, bowing his head, "there was no-one to greet us upon our arrival."

"Lord Stark," Lord Bryce rose from his chair.

"Not a Lord anymore, My Lord." The Stark man replied.

"Of course, my apologies."

The men behind the Stark were a wide variety. Two of them looked to be well-groomed, dressed in dark furs and leathers, carrying fine steel swords at their hips. One, however, stood out:

A fairly short man in comparison to the others, with muddy and tangled brown hair. Sun-kissed skin stained with mire and sweat, though his shoulders were broad, and his hands large. His teeth were crooked and uneven, and his nose far too curved my liking, and it was plain to see he was missing a portion of a finger on his left hand. However, if one could look past all of this, I suppose they would find him desirable.

"Your Grace," Lord Bryce turned to me, "This is Kenn Stark of the Night's Watch. He and his recruits…"

"I am well aware of the Night's Watch and their recruitment, My Lord." I smiled, standing. "I am Visenya Targaryen, Lady of Dragonstone and Princess of the Seven Kingdoms. My mother, Vysella Targaryen has long been a patron to the Night's Watch. As her daughter, and representative of the Rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms, Viserys Targaryen, I thank you for the services you shall provide for us."

The hall erupted into applause as the men began to take their seats at the tables and join us with the feast. I saw Bryce give me a small nod. If only Viserys was here to study me – he needed to learn how to command respect and authority, and how to play the Game if he was to be King.

 **Raff Bolton – The Dreadfort, The North**

I'd never held Valyrian steel before. For a greatsword, it was tremendously light, as I'd heard about Valyrian steel. A dark and smoky blade, with intricate designs and carvings in the fuller. The blade was almost the size of the Stark lad.

I grinned to myself as I flourished the blade, before sauntering towards the two men whom had refused to bend the knee. First was Robard Reed, an older man with grey hair and a flat nose squashed onto a narrow face. Deep green eyes flickered open. He was tied to a wooden Bolton cross, as was the other lad, his first-born, Domeric. He looked the spitting likeness of his father, aside from his dark brown hair tied back.

"Ice, isn't it?" I looked to Markas, who sat in chains like some miserable hound. "That's what it's called?" I looked to the other Northern Lords, who stood in the courtyard. Absent their armies, they were a sorry lot of dolts. "Ice has always been held by the Warden of the North. My father, your Liege Lord, has seen fit for me to carry out punishment for the two men who refused to subjugate to their Liege Lords."

I turned around to the Domeric, driving the greatsword through his side and letting him gasp and howl in pain while his father called out his name. I left my new greatsword inside Domeric, and drew my flaying blade as I approached Robard, beginning to carve my way around his lips. The damned old fool kept moving, making my work a lot harder – though I was never one to back down from a challenge.

"Folk say that respect is something that is earned, not given," I announced as I took his upper lip, throwing it to the kennels, "I disagree. Respect is something that is taken," I started to take the Reed Lord's ear. By the time his heart gave out, Domeric would have bled out. And I wanted Domeric to see his father's mangled body before they passed together.

"You bastard!" Domeric cried at me. I rolled my eyes, and took Robard's ear fully, stuffing it in Domeric's mouth and clamping a hand over his lips.

"Tell me, how do swampmen taste?" I growled at him. "I want to make sure my Hounds have a treat!" I finally removed my hand from Domeric's mouth, letting him spit out the remains of the ear. "Serve us as you served the Starks, and you will find no punishment. You will deal with my father, the Warden of the North. Betray us or insult us, and you will deal with me."

I took Robard's eyelids. "I don't want you to miss your son's feeding!" I hissed in Robard's remaining ear. I walked back to Domeric, shoving the eyelid in his mouth. He began to gag, and sure enough, heaved up vomit that poured down his chin and jerkin.

"What's wrong?" I frowned, trying not to break out into laughter at the sight, "don't you want to grow up big and strong?" I finally let out my guffaws. Looking at the bloody mess of the father and his sick-sodden son, I lost interest.

I wrapped a hand around the hilt of Ice and drew it from Domeric's belly and sliced his gut open before walking towards Robard and slitting his throat to the bone. I let out a content sigh.

"What a wonderful start to the day. You best rest while you can," I wiped the Reed blood off of my blade on the surcoat of Robard, "it's a long ride to Winterfell. And I wish to have my first bath there."

 **Finn Snow – The Drowned Town, Braavos, Essos**

It had been two weeks since Belos died. Mikko and I had spent three days tracking the son of a fisherman, whose son had been taken by some nefarious sorcerer. Mikko stood at the doorway, shaking hands with the man as the mother embraced her son.

It should have felt good. To save someone with Mikko, and not do it for coin. But all I could think about what how many more sons I had to save to make up for the ones I had taken. The boy was only a decade old. That's how old Tylan would be by now. Probably still playing with the dogs and howling like a wolf all the time.

Mikko walked back towards me. In the distance, I saw the man nod at me, a gesture that I returned. Mikko sat on the barrel next to me as we watched the ships roll the Purple Harbour.

"You turned down the gold." Mikko stated.

"Aye."

"How do you feel?"

"Like a damned fool…" I muttered, jumping onto my feet. "Come, we'll find some more work in the Harbour."

"That's four jobs this week. We need pay, Finn Snow, and we need sleep."

"You can sleep at the Harbour then," Mikko hopped off his barrel and began to walk with me. The city seemed worse now. Guards dragged people out of their houses, demanding answers about the theft from the Iron Bank. Bodies littered the streets. For all the beauty and vibrant colours of Braavos, none were as frequent as the red of blood.

"We can't stand by as this happens," Mikko growled.

"What would you have me do?"

"I don't know…"

"Then don't bring it up again." I snapped at Mikko. Sometimes, when he spoke, it was as though Belos was speaking to me through him. The thought of him filled me with rage. I suppose there was something else there – a hurt, an emptiness, but I chose to focus on the rage. I let it fill me whenever I drew my sword. I clenched my sword-hand, feeling the deep scar that sat across my palm.

As we drew closer to the Purple Harbour, I began to notice something – a troupe of street urchins, two of them begged, three of them wore tattered cowls, and the last one was dressed in a tattered blue dress, dancing as men and women dipped into their purses to place coins in the small dish at her feet. The wisp of a girl was distinctive – platinum hair, violet blue eyes with bare feet coated in dirt. It was Taenara, Belos' last pupil.

"Gods, Mikko…" I sat on one of the crates that had been unloaded from a merchant vessel, "what's happened to her? Why's she with cutpurses?"

"You said Belos gave you shelter and food when he taught you? You killed him," he gestured to Taenara, "and the harm did not end with him."

"But…" I frowned, this wasn't right. I killed Belos because it was the right thing to do. Hilario as well. If so, why did it affect innocent people? "That's not fair."

Mikko scoffed. "You may fight like a man, but you talk as though you are still a…" he searched for the word, " _yalli_?"

"Yal- child." I shook my head.

"Child." He repeated. "You grow angry and scream about fairness like a child…"

"I know, Mikko, I know…" I got up to walk away.

"Do you?" Mikko stood up. "It's hard to fight beside a man with no cause beyond his own greed and glory. You've not said much about your family, but do you think they would approve of this? Is this worthy of the Starks?"

"I told you Mikko, I'm not a Stark." I snapped at him once more. Mikko stood there in the hot sun, crossing his arms.

"Have I said anything false?"

I gritted my teeth and clenched my fist again, feeling the scar on my hand stretch. But, in my heart of hearts, I knew why his words riled me.

"No." I said finally. "No, you haven't…" I began to wander towards the port, looking at the ships roll into port. "For years, I've been busy brawling and boozing. Taking what I want without a damn as to who I hurt. And here I stand," I stretched out my hands, "I've seen more of the world than men twice my age, killed more than any soldier back home. A man of infamy and reputation." I dropped my arms to my side. "Yet I'm still as penniless and friendless as the day I left home." I looked at those ships, remembering the day I had arrived here. Full of rage and hurt. That rage… that spurned me on in all I did. Eager to prove that I didn't need my family. That I was better than them. But that rage had caused me to destroy everything.

"After all I've wrought in my path, there's not a single person I care about beside me."

 **Evie Stark – The Purple Harbour, Braavos, Essos**

Braavos was so different to everything else I'd ever known. People shouted and shook hands, dressed in vibrant colours. Bronzed skin and thick dark hair. Men carried skinny, short blades at their sides. Smells of vanilla, cinnamon and other spices filled my nostrils, along with the salty spray of the sea.

I walked down the gangplank with Lord Cerwyn, who wiped his brow.

"Damned heat…" Lord Cerwyn muttered to himself, eyeing the Braavosi suspiciously. "The sooner we find Finn and leave this blasted city, the better."

"We're guests in their country, Lord Cerwyn."  
"I'd sooner wish we weren't."

"Wish all you want, Lord Cerwyn, but I am your Leige Lady."

Cerwyn grumbled and stiffly nodded. "Lady Stark…"

"Wait on the boat if you wish."

"Ship." Cerwyn mumbled. "You should not wander alone."

"I'm sure I shall be…" I lost my words. For as I looked through the crowds, I saw two men. One was large, dark-skinned and his hair shorn. He was a giant of a man, with a heavy, curved blade at his side and an array of knives across his chest. Beside him, however, was the man I knew.

His hair was longer than I remembered, tied back. Stubble was heavy across his jaw. He was leaner and taller now, dressed in a white shirt and a dark jerkin. At his waist was a skinny blade with an elaborate golden hilt. He had our father's dark eyes, and they locked onto me. For a moment, his face was blank, and then it hit him. He recognized me.

I walked towards him slowly, unsure of what he thought. Was he angry at me? Did he blame me? Did he want nothing to do with me? It seemed he had grown to become a Braavosi here… perhaps he did not want me to bring our family's woes.

He stumbled towards me in a daze, and then I saw the corner of his lip curl into a smile. He dashed towards me and flung his arms around me, lifting me up off my feet. His arms were so strong, and I buried my face into his sweated neck. He had a heavy scar on his eyebrow, and small healed scars sat across his face.

"Evie…" Finn half-laughed in a shock, speaking in a far deeper voice, "Evie, what are you doing here?"

And then I remembered everything else. "Finn, something's happened…"

 **Well… I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Some of you made some accurate predictions. Let me know what you thought about:**

 **Ryleigh and Tylan**

 **Aeron and Dyanne**

 **Raff's plans**

 **Finn and Evie's reunion**

 **Also, I love hearing your predictions and where you think the story's headed. It's so I know whether my foreshadowing is good… or whether I can break your hearts with a plot twist.**

 **Also also, please tell me what pairings you'd like to see. These pairings can be friendships, relationships but also whom you'd like to see fight each other!**

 **The next chapter is named '** _ **Warm Welcomes'**_ **and centres primarily in the North, but also in the Vale of Arryn.**


	3. Warm Welcomes

**Greetings one and all! I've been looking into the storyline and finding awesome little callbacks to throw in some more… so, keep an eye out and be prepared to get a little nostalgic.**

 **How crazy is it that this series was started nearly a year ago, and we're already past the halfway point? You guys have given me over 370 reviews all in all… that's beyond believable! Seriously guys, thank you for supporting this story – I like to think this one of the most hyped SYOC's around atm, and I plan for it to only get better.**

 **Like… this is probably my favourite instalment out of the 4 there will be in total. This chapter got me feeling all nostalgic… Anyway, without further ado:** _ **Warm Welcomes**_

 **Raff Bolton – Winterfell, The North**

No Mormont troops to greet us. No proud and noble Starks left to sully outside and fend us off. Winterfell was an utter ruin. Blackened stone and toppled towers, with charred remains of bodies littering the courtyard. Whichever Targaryen did this, I could tell I would like them famously.

I'd never seen Winterfell before. Even now, in it's rubble, it was truly still a keep fit for Kings. Bigger than the Dreadfort, sat on the top of a hill overlooking all of the North. Not like my father's keep, built into the side of a mountain for a natural defence. No… the Red Kings of Old should have taken Winterfell as well. We were Boltons. We did not need any natural defences.

I dismounted my horse, walking through the courtyard at the charred bodies. "I'd expected to find a bear or two here…" I muttered, looking to my scouts.

"The Mormonts, milord," The lanky ginger one spoke to me, "they fled back to Bear Island."

I nodded, looking around the remains of Winterfell. I was hardly surprised – who could possibly defend a keep when the walls had been damaged so terribly? Bear Island was a tiny part of the North. They could hold out for a year at most, but we could surely have another keep razed by a dragon. And then the North would be ours. After the Starks had deposed us and forced us to bend the knee and kiss their arses, the North would be ours again. It would belong to the Red Kings of Old. It was our birthright. Ten thousand Boltons had died in the ancient war with the Starks, and they had burnt Winterfell to the ground twice. But now, I would succeed in this war. I would not destroy Winterfell, I would take it. Just as they took our crown.

"No matter," I stopped in the middle of the courtyard, "we'll burn their isle," I found my eyes falling on the body of a woman. Her legs were trapped under a long wooden beam, and as I approached, rats began to flee. I crouched down, examining the woman. Her dark hair was short and uneven. One eye was swollen, bruised all purple. And her skin was pale… like moonlight reflected on pond water. The bone of her leg poked out under her singed dress. She was dressed like nobility – probably a handmaiden. Or maybe even Lady Margareth Stark…

It didn't matter anymore, either way.

"Feed her to the dogs," I ordered my scouts, "My father arrives tomorrow. I'll not have this sorry state to greet him." And with that, I walked inside my new keep.

 **Lorra Reed – Greywater Reach**

I read through the ravenscroll again, as if I had missed something. I must have. For as I read the news that my father and brother had died, it didn't seem real. My older brother Domeric, whom I used to trail after wherever he went. My father, who gave me my first bow, taught me how to draw. It seemed as though I was witness to some awful dream.

I looked up from the scroll to Jaran, who was busy playing with his wooden sword. I suppose that he would be Lord of Greywater Reach now… Lord of the Neck. That is, he would be if he were a proper age. But my half-brother was a boy of four, who barely knew what the Neck was… he wasn't fit to rule yet. Not with the Bolton bastards ready to advance south to us.

"Maester Yodin," I looked to the elderly man, "send a raven to Karstark. Tell him I do not intend to yield my keep to Oathbreakers, and the Boltons will have to march down to the Neck and take it themselves. Rowan intends the same for Bear Island. The three of us may, at least, lessen the Bolton's forces. And send a raven bearing the same scroll to Bear Island."

"Yes, My Lady," Maester Yodin bowed his head and set off at once. I turned back to little Jaran, who seemed more intent on carving designs into the hilt of his sword. I walked over to him and knelt down.

"Jaran, you're going to be on your own for a bit now…"

"Why?"

"Father and Dom… they've gone to see my mother," I explained. "Your mother will take care of you while I'm gone."

"Are you going to see your mother?" Jaran asked me.

"Maybe, Jaran. But I swore by the salt of the sea and the rock of the Neck, by the mud and grass, I'll do all I can to return to you."

 **Lilyen Arryn – The Eyrie, The Vale of Arryn**

I ducked under the swipe of Ser Aldern, taking a step back to steady myself, pointing the tip of my blade at him as I regained my balance. I side-stepped his blow, bringing up my own sword to bind against his until I was close enough to knock the hilt out of his hand. I swiped my foot behind his ankle, and watched him fall to the ground. I suppose I should've smiled – I should've been happy. But the truth is, I wasn't as good as I wanted to be. As I needed to be.

When father declare for Viserys, I would have to be ready to fight in the war to come. And if father swore fealty to Aeron, we would simply be fighting on the other side of the same great war. Either way, I needed to be the best I could possibly be. And right now, I wasn't.

On the third bout, I tripped over my own feet, trying to feint twice in the same advance. A foolish manoeuvre – one I was not nearly as adept as I needed to be to handle. I turned around to see my sister, walking with her handmaidens. Sarissa was a dainty little thing, and she rested a hand on her handmaiden – probably because she had trouble walking again: the leaves had only started to bloom again, and the cold air could harm Sarissa awfully if she didn't take care to wrap up.

Several of the nights I was training with turned to bow to her. The nearby squires puffed out their chests and began to beat their sparring swords harder. All for the pretty and pious Lady Sarissa. With her marble skin, her light waves of blonde hair, her delicate and deep blue eyes…

"I'll rest a while," I informed Ser Aldern, who began to spar with another knight. I drank from a flagon of water, wiping a suede glove across my sweated forehead.

"You're only fighting yourself, you know," I turned to see Viserys standing there, holding the hilt of his blade. A thin little thing, though it seemed to suit Viserys' lean frame.

"I beg your pardon, Your Grace?"

Viserys walked closer to me, "When you fight, don't think of it as a duel. Think of it as a battle. You can't afford to waste so much energy on one opponent."

"So, what should I do instead?"

"You find their strength and turn it into a weakness," Viserys sat down beside me, pointing to the two squires sparring, "you see the big one?"

"Duncan?"

"He's strong for his age, and he knows it. He'll use that to fight the smaller boy."

"Mattard."

"If Mattard knows best, he'll wait for Duncan to tire himself. Sap a strong man of strength, and he has nothing left." Viserys recited the words. His eyes remained fixed on the two boys, until Duncan hit Mattard hard in the stomach, sending him to the floor, wincing.

"Who taught you all this? Your father?" I remembered the songs that were sung of King Rhaegon Targaryen, who crushed the Ironborn raiders as they landed on the shores. Rhaegon Targaryen single-handedly defeating Killan Pyke, who claimed descendance from House Hoare.

"No," Viserys laughed, "my father was an awful swordsman! Gods… like a child with a stick, according to my mother."

"I heard he was a legendary warrior."

"All tales deserve embellishment… It's no secret that Ben Stark and his smattering of Northmen won the war for us. He saved my mother from the raiders and escorted her back to Dragonstone."

"Yes, I'd heard of this, Your Grace."

"What you probably hadn't heard was that my father's armies were defeated. They tried to rescue my mother and couldn't. If it wasn't for the Northmen… well, Visenya and I wouldn't even be here."

I nodded along, thinking about this. "From what I've heard, the Northerners are brutish and simple-minded."

"There's some truth to that…" Viserys nodded, "Though I did meet a girl from the North at Storm's End. Evie Stark."

"Stark?" My ears perked up; growing up as an Arryn of the Vale, I'd been instilled with the words of our House: ' _As High as Honour_ '. And when anyone spoke of the Starks, none could tarnish their honour. Though, there was the small stain we'd heard rumours of – a bastard sent away from the shame he bore for such an honourable House. "What was she like?"

"A quiet girl. Quite meek…" Viserys looked on at the sparring, his eyes flickering up to the shadow of the dragon in the clouds.

"So, who taught you to wield a sword?"

"Ser Podrick Blackwell of the Kingsguard was the first. Then there was General Gladthorpe… but I owe most of it all to another man," Viserys cleared his throat, "a knight of the Kingsguard. Well… no, a friend, really. I… I think he was my best friend…" Viserys blinked. "His name was Richard."

"Was?"

Viserys nodded, licking his lips, "he died, not too long ago."

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you," Viserys let out a deep sigh, "most people die in vain. Inside their keeps, the cabins of their ships. Whether it's a knife to the throat of a sword in the belly… very few of us are lucky to have a meaningful death. But Richard faced death with a sword in hand, saving others," Viserys turned to me, "I can think of no better way to meet one's end."

 **Haylise Baratheon – Winterfell, The North**

I stared down at my belly. I feared the worst had happened. Under different circumstances, it might've been a happy affair, but… all I could feel was dread. I had not bled for over a month now… perhaps it was because of Storm's End, but I feared otherwise.

Edric had sold our horse for an old mare pulling a cart full of hay, which I hid below. There was less chance of someone recognizing me on the road that way. We had been travelling for so long now… I yearned for a bath, and new clothes, and food that was not wild hare. Edric was sweet, he would always give me most of the food, insisting he had more squirrelled away. I knew him better though.

"Your Grace," Edric hissed as the cart slowed to a stop.

"What?" I let out a whisper.

"I think we're here…" I pushed myself up on my elbows and looked over Edric's shoulder – the keep was bigger than Storm's End, but now… the stone was blackened and a large chunk of the wall had been decimated. I'd seen destruction like this at Storm's End… Only one creature was responsible from this…

"Aeron razed it too…" I tried not to let my voice crack. We'd travelled all this way for nothing! Only to be met with death and defeat and misery once more! I fell back into the hay. What more could we do now? Somehow find our way to Dragonstone and beg Visenya Targaryen to help us? But what if she traded me to Aeron in return for a pardon? True, I didn't think she would do so, but Laena Targaryen seemed to turn on Viserys just as Aeron turned on Draegor.

"Wait…" Edric narrowed his eyes, and then tapped my shoulder excitedly, "they're still there! I can see men on the battlements!"

I looked up to see that Edric was right: There were, indeed, soldiers on the ramparts, moving timber. I let out a long, loud sigh of relief. Thank the Gods…

Edric began to lead us forwards, allowing me to sit up straight and stretch out my legs. We came closer until the men above eyed us carefully.

"Halt," One soldier called above, "who goes there?"

"Edric of Storm's End!" Edric called, "I bring the lawful sister of Evie Stark."

"Evie Stark?" The guard looked to his comrade, who spoke in low tones.

"Why aren't they letting us in?" I asked Edric.

"My Lady demands to see the Lord of Winterfell!"

They looked down at Edric, their eyes falling on me. And then they called down to the portcullis, "Open the gate!"

I let out another exhalation, and Edric reigned the horse as we passed inside to the courtyard of Winterfell:

The stone debris was being pulled away by horses and carts, then carried to the castle wall to plug the hole. Edric dismounted the cart and offered me hand. I felt the eyes of soldiers uneasily rest upon me. It was so much colder up here… I wished I was back in the hay bale. It was a little warmer there…

"Is Lady Stark here?" I asked one of the soldiers, who let out a scoff. And out of the largest building, came a man dressed in strange garb. Nothing like the other Northmen, and nothing like a Southerner. The hilt of a small knife was visible behind his waist, and a large greatsword was tied to his waist. He hard light, flint-grey eyes like Evie, though his head was completely shorn of hair. I'd spent enough time around Viserys to recognize a Valyrian steel sword – this had to be Markas.

"Lord Markas?"

He grinned. He seemed a lot more cheerful than his sister… "Well, lads, what have you brought me?" He clasped his hands behind his waist, leaning over to examine me.

"Claimed she was Evie Stark's sister."

"Evie Stark's sister…" He closed his eyes and turned to face his soldiers, "Evie Stark doesn't have any sisters."

"By law."

Markas blinked and turned back to me. "So you must be the Baratheon girl… I'd heard Storm's End was razed."

"You mean… Evie isn't here?"

He stifled a giggle, clearing his throat, "No. She really isn't…" He walked towards Edric, "And who are you?"

"Edric, milord."

"Well, Edric… you must be hungry." He turned to one of his soldiers, "Give him some food," he pointed to one of the caged doors in the distance. They looked from the door to Markas and nodded, escorting Edric there.

"But, what…"

"I'll bring your Doe-eyed beauty along shortly," Markas smiled at me. His smile was… unsettling. It wasn't friendly. "So, you would be… Viserys Targaryen's wife, would you not?"

"Haylise…" I nodded.

"Haylise!" He let out a chuckle, "That's it…"

"Lord Markas, we need to find Evie…"

"Oh," His smile dissipated, "I'm not Markas. Though, I can take you to him, if you wish."

"You can? He's here?"

"Of course he is. Didn't you hear? The War in the North was victorious. We won." The shorn man whom I had previously thought to be Markas led me through the castle of Winterfell, down the steps and into the dungeons.

"Lord Markas dwells down here?" I frowned, unsure of whether I was actually being led to Markas Stark or not.

"You've seen the state of the castle above ground. I think it's more fitting for Markas down here…"

"I don't…" I shook my head, taking a step backwards.

"You're welcome to leave, but if you wish to see Markas… well, he's a busy man…" The shorn man opened the gate, and waited patiently, scratching his ear.

Well… if this was a trap, he surely would have stopped me then.

I crept past the gate and walked down the dark chamber, taking one of the torches and looking around the stone cell. I heard some scuffling and clanking, and saw a figure tied to a wooden cross, bloodied and gasping in pain, dark hair tangled in blood, one ear fully removed, revealing a small hole in the side of his head.

I let out a shriek, moving backwards, but as I did so, I saw the gate close, and the man stood there, pulling out his small knife.

"Markas, here is your sister by marriage. Haylise, Markas." The shorn man smiled, the torchlight reflecting the skin of his head.

"Who are you?"

The man rolled his eyes and laughed, "I've been so rude… Raff Bolton," he gave a theatrical bow, "Lord of Winterfell."

 **Oooh… chilling. Well, that's where I'll leave you for the moment. Again, send in those Crows and Wildlings! Make sure to leave a review as well! Now, the next chapter is named '** _ **Betrothed**_ **', and is set in King's Landing (primarily), Winterfell and, finally, Castle Black! So, you can see why I really need those men of the Night's Watch…**

 **See you next time!  
**

 **R.**


	4. Betrothed

**So guys… long time since I updated last. Well, that's because I've been working on a short novel – which I plan on self-publishing September / October.**

 **I decided to finish off this chapter on a lazy Wednesday afternoon.**

 **Now, a couple of things…**

 **More Men of the Night's Watch please. Also, some wildlings. I've not received any yet.**

 **Some more commoners from King's Landing would be fun.**

 **To** _ **Numbering**_ **: To quote Rick Sanchez, "You think God could do that? If there's a god, it's f*cking me!"**

 **Almost all of you were surprised that Ben Stark protected Vysella Targaryen during the Ironborn raids. I'm pretty sure I said that back in** _ **A Crown of Bones**_ **. It's not really new information…**

 **Now, some of you think Vysella is Finn's mother… I'm actually quite pleased about this. Purely because some of you think Finn's mother was Maryana Bolton, some of you think it was Vysella Targaryen, some of you think it was someone else entirely. Well, how many of you think I'll actually answer the question?**

 **Dyanne Baelish - The Red Keep, King's Landing, The Crownlands**

Aeron sat in his chair, watching me pace back and forth as Maester Godwin scrawled his quill against the ravenscroll.

"…We call you to send troops to bolster the Stormlander's defence along the Dorish Marches. These are perilous times, in which the Dornish hordes may take advantage. We must be vigilante against the enemies outside our realm as well as those within." Maester Godwin nodded, writing the note and placing it to the side as he started a new one.

"Mother, I am quite capable of writing my own orders to my Lords…"

"I've known Lord Rowen since I was a girl," I explained, "he's a noble and honourable man. A request from a Lady of his kingdom will persuade him much more than an order from the King."

"I don't need to persuade him. As you just stated, I am his King."

"Aeron," I leant down beside my son, who still pouted as a child, "I have more experience in these matters. A good King is only as powerful as his Lords. Besides," I stroked a thumb across his hand, "Honey tastes sweeter than vinegar."

Aeron sighed. I understood that a King needs to do things himself, but he was my son. And in King's Landing, there was no-one he could trust other than himself and I. Delyth was a lovely girl, but she was yet to bear a child unto my son. She was not a part of our family yet.

"As Lord of the Realm, I cannot rely on my mother."

"You can always rely on me, Aeron," She smiled, "Now, go and find Delyth. She's been aching to spend time with you. And it's the least you can do."

Aeron huffed, then stood up, straightening his jerkin. "I suppose I have been neglecting her, somewhat…"

"Neglecting? Is that what you call it?"

Aeron rolled his eyes, "Something to say, mother?"

"I know you think you are in control, Aeron. But that's exactly why I'm worried. If she gets her claws into you…"

"Lady Theadosia will return to the North and marry Lord Flint. You've not a thing to fear, mother."

'Not a thing to fear'. Is that what Rhaegon had said to Vysella when I had begun to pursue him? The Boltons had been embroiled in a civil war in the North. My own reasons for cajoling and seducing a royal had been far outweighed by this Lady Theadosia.

"If you're sure, Aeron…" I gave him a kiss on his cheek, "Now go. Delyth will surely be overjoyed to see you."

Aeron gave me a smile, and bowed his head. He still knew his courtesies… "Maester Godwin."

"Your Grace," Maester Godwin rose to bow, and Aeron left.

"Now," I continued, "address this to Lord Hand Lucian Lannister…" I cleared my throat and resumed my pacing.

"My Lady?" I turned to face him, "Adress this to where?"

"Well, to Casterly Rock, of course."

"I'm afraid he has not returned to Casterly Rock."

I frowned, "The Lord Hand told you that he had to leave the castle to attend to matters of the Realm?"

"Yes, My Lady, but he also explicitly stated that any matters he had to attend to would be addressed upon his return."

I let out a sigh – damn those Lannisters. Why my son chose a Lannister as Hand of the King, I'll never know – their gold was their only redeeming factor. Even the Lannister girl was wild and unladylike.

"Very well. I wish to be informed as soon as the Lord Hand returns."

"Very good, My Lady," Maester Godwin stood up, taking the ravenscroll with him as he left Aeron's chambers.

However, as he opened the doors, a figure was waiting. A large bust, wide hips and a slender waist. Her dress was revealing, with her bodice laced loosely. Pale alabaster skin and feline flint-grey eyes smiling mischeviously.

"Lady Theadosia," I clasped my hands.

"My Lady," Lady Theadosia cocked her head to the side, then clasped her hands, "I was looking for our King."

"He is with his wife," I informed her. Her eyes flickered and she looked to the floor for the moment. Not upset, angry, shocked or panicked… just as though she was taking a moment to understand what I said. She turned back to me with a polite smile.

"Thank you, My Lady. I'm sure I can find them myself…"

"Actually, I'd like to speak to you, if convenient," I turned to Maester Godwin, "Send those ravens post-haste."

"At once, My Lady," Maester Godwin bowed his head again to me, then to Lady Theadosia, and then closed the door behind Lady Theadosia.

"I understand that in the North," I walked past Aeron's bed, where I had first seen this… Northern gem, "you tend to speak plainly about most matters."

"We are not as so proper, I suppose."

"I admire this," I poured two cups of wine, "So, indulge me if you will," I returned to her, handing her a cup of wine. "I'd appreciate it if you were to stop trying to fuck my son."

If Lady Theadosia was someone I shouldn't fear, she would have feigned innocence. Or she would have been scared – cry, maybe. Try to flee. But Lady Theadosia did not do any of these things. Because she was a woman to be feared; she smiled.

"Would you, really?"

"Many women have tried to build a life upon being a King's mistress. Under different circumstances, I'd leave you and him to your own devices," I began to walk towards the balcony, "but my son is fighting a war. Many still question his right to rule," I turned to face the woman. Her full lips had pulled into a half-smile as she raised a dark eyebrow. "If you are to bear him a child, you must help steel his rule."

"I thought you wanted me to stop fucking him."

"Our goals are aligned, Lady Theadosia. If you are to bear him a child, doing so once his enemies are gone will mean Aeron will stay King, and be in a position to further your own."

Lady Theadosia sipped her wine and walked towards me, her hips swinging hypnotically, "And what is to stop you from turning on me once Aeron's foes are vanquished?"

"Nothing."

Lady Theadosia let out a stifled giggle as she sipped her wine again. She raised a hand to play with a strand of my hair, letting the nails of her thin fingers slide along my neck, "We're going to have such fun, you and I."

 **Lyra Lannister - Winterfell, The North**

The North was a dismal place. I'd heard the scoffs and distaste of Stormlanders and Crownlanders as they spat and scorned them. However, I never imagined how right they could have been. Bleak and cloudy, with squalid little huts and rain! Gods, the rain!

The women were ugly too. All pale and dark-haired with plain dresses. True, I had never been fond of dressed (I still had the scars from when I dared to attend a feast at Casterly Rock in breeches and a tunic), but if they weren't looking pretty, what was the damned point of wearing a dress?

"How long have we been in here?" I asked the girl opposite me, "I feel as though it's been years…"

"We're nearly there, My Lady," She replied, "There, in the distance, is Winterfell."

I leant out the carriage to see; I'd heard that giants had built Winterfell in the Age of Heroes. I turned back to the girl. "You're a Bolton, aren't you? Lara?"

"Alara," The girl corrected me, "And I'm a Handmaiden to the Boltons. Lady Theadosia. Your sister-to-be…"

"Yes, yes, yes," I waved my hand, turning back to the castle. The further away I was from that treacherous fucking bastard, Aeron, the better. "And it's… Rolf Bolton, yes?"

"Raff," Alara replied, looking out of the carriage, swallowing hard and her face turning stony as she said his name. I hadn't given much thought to what he was like. I mean, I knew what I _wanted_ him to be like – strong, handsome, talented with a sword, but not as talented as he was with… other weaponry. But, most of all, he couldn't control me. He'd call his banners and march to King's Landing. Or, he'd march to join Viserys. "What is he like? Raff Bolton?"

"Raff Bolton is…"Alara frowned, "He's a great warrior. He defeated Lord Bennard Stark at the Battle of Sheepshead Hills."

I nodded, "Is he handsome? Tall?"

"He is…" Alara frowned again – it was as though she was careful with what she said. Very careful. Almost scared. "He is shorn of hair."

"Shorn of hair?" I thought about this. "Completely?"

"Yes."

"Even…?"

Alara coughed, "I'm afraid I do not know, My Lady."

"What do you make of him?" Alara began to play with her dress, and looked down at our feet in the carriage. It wasn't promising, to say the least. I rolled my eyes, "Useless…" I watched Winterfell draw closer. "Why are we going to Winterfell?"

"I'm afraid I do not know, My Lady."

"Oh, what do you know?" I muttered, sticking my head out of the carriage as I saw the open gates, and the entire household assembled to meet me. I brought my head back into the carriage and sighed. After my time with Haylise, I'd have to act more like her. I'd have to use her charm. This Raff Bolton would either be my ally or my jailor – and I was not about to be imprisoned once more.

As the carriage came to a halt, I wouldn't wait for a guard to open my carriage door. Instead, I opened it myself, pulling on my overly-long and overly-embroidered fucking dress and exited the carriage, stretching my back after the long ride. Gods, how my legs ached…

Winterfell was truly remarkable. That is, remarkable in how little there was left. The castle had been destroyed almost entirely. Construction had started, though there was a large opening in the wall, where wooden beams had been placed, and wagons of stone stood, with a handful of men bustling about.

What. A. Pit. Of. Shit.

I pulled the golden lionsfur of my cloak closer to my face, looking around at the household. Servants and a Maester were gathered in the courtyard outside the Hall. In the front, stood a man but a inch or so taller than myself. His greying black hair fell straight to his shoulders, and those light grey eyes narrowed as he examined me. The most notable feature was the scar across his right eye, which was dulled and old. It made me think of Viserys – how his scar added to his charm. A great warrior with a great scar. But this man… his scar was ugly.

Beside him stood a wisp of a woman; Shoulders jutting forwards as she leant with both her hands on an ebony cane, her skin was so pale and translucent, it was as though she were some apparition. Her long face was gaunt, and her eyes carried large bags. Her thin lips were held together in a scowl as she glowered at me. I pulled the lionsfur closer.

Then, beside the one-eyed man, stood the young man who must've been Raff Bolton. He was just as tall as the one-eyed man, and as Alara had told me, was shorn of hair, save his eyebrows. He stood out from the other Northmen, as he wore no tunic or brigandine. Instead, he wore a simple jerkin over a thick woollen gambeson. At his waist was a longsword, a large axe and the hilt of a small knife. He seemed wholly uninterested in me, and instead picked at his fingernails.

"My Lady Lannister," The one-eyed man spoke, taking several steps forwards and bowing his head, "I hope your journey wasn't too uncomfortable."

"It was," I huffed. I closed my eyes and took a breath to steel myself – I was to charm Raff Bolton, and so I would need to act more like Haylise. I plastered on a smile, "Though I am looking forward to resting in my new home," I tried not to be sick as I spoke the words. The one-eyed man seemed pleased.

"Alara," He turned to the handmaiden next to me, his voice softening, "where is my daughter?"

"She remains in King's Landing, My Lord," Alara informed him, "As a guest of the King."

The man, who I quickly presumed to be Lord Bolton, turned to a younger, stocky man with brown hair and lime-green eyes. He ground his teeth before turning to me and smiling politely.

"I am Lord Alvar of House Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort and Warden of the North."

This explained why we were in Winterfell. The Starks had seemingly been defeated, against all odds. I nodded, "Thank the Gods that you were victorious against the Starks."

"Word has not reached King's Landing yet?"

"I do not believe so."

Alvar nodded, then turned to the spectral figure beside him, "This is my wife, Lady Ilyana," He gestured at the woman, but did not even turn to look at her. He then turned to the shorn young man, "And this is my first-born son, Raff. Your betrothed."

Raff looked up at me, cocking his head to the side as he took a few dawdling steps towards me. I could feel his eyes rove over my body. He stopped at the lionsfur which I kept over my bust. He then turned to his father and back to me, smiling.

"Lady Lyra," He bowed his bald head, "Welcome to your new home."

 **Ser Edgar Sand - Fleabottom, King's Landing, The Crownlands**

 _The Goldfinch_ was an awful place. Yes, the girls there were bruised and muck-covered. There were also no boys… it seemed even in the shittiest slums of the shit-filled city, they still believed themselves to be above that.

But not above the mutilation of women, it seemed.

A well-endowed red-headed woman approached me, stroking my beard, "Strange to see a Dornishman North of the Red Mountains," She spoke in a musical voice. I admired her – she was cut from a different cloth to the whores. She looked to be more like a courtesan from the East.

"As it is strange to see such a beauty in Fleabottom," I replied, taking her hand and pulling her close to me, "A woman used to work here by the name of Daisy. You knew her?" The girl looked away from me. Clearly she did not wish to broach the subject. Though, she nodded. "Do you know where she was found?"

The girl pointed to a door upstairs. A locked door in a brothel… I never liked to impose myself, though I was here on business…

The girl tried to walk away, but I kept hold of her hand, "Your name, girl?"

"Cara," She said tentatively, looking at my clutching hand. I softened my grip, and delved a hand into my purse, pulling out a gold coin and placing it inside her hand.

"Your hair resembles the stone of the Red Mountains," I informed her, kissing her hand and bowing my head before turning to walk up the stairs, holding my greatsword to keep it steady.

I opened the door and entered, finding a refreshing surprise – two women in bed together. One was a silver-haired Lyseni – pretty to a Westerosi, but not to another Lyseni. No, she clearly didn't have much of a career as a courtesan, and so had been sold for a single coin (most likely).

The other woman, whom had her thighs resting on the Lyseni's shoulders, clutching her own breast as the Lyseni's fingers entered her, was a Westerosi. Dark auburn hair tanagled against her fair skin, thin lips open and emerald eyes half-closed in ecstasy.

"Play with the arse," I informed them, leaning against the doorframe. The Westerosi sat up, and pulled the sheets to cover herself. "You'll thank me later…" I informed them, closing the door behind me as I entered the room.

"You'll wait until she's finished-" The Lyseni began to speak.

"I'm not a customer. At least," I smiled at the Lyseni's naked body, "not today." I smiled. "I was informed that one of you knew Daisy. She was a whore that was killed not so long ago, no?"

The girls looked at each other, shifting uneasily. But the woman in bed pulled the sheets closer to her body, and did not look at me. The Lyseni, however, did.

"Daisy was a normal girl."

"Who was her last customer?" I took a sip of wine – awful Arbor swill.

"I don't know," The Lyseni kept her eyes on me. I saw the Westerosi behind her take a breath – as if she were about to say something.

"Thank you," I smiled, turning to the Westerosi. She looked up at me.

"Thank you for what?"

"Having something to say," I walked towards her, "I'd hate to interrupt an… appointment for no reason."

"I don't know nothing-"

"Save me the lies," I rubbed the bridge of my nose, "I could pull off your fingers one by one and get the truth, so let's be quick and I'll let you return to…" I nodded to the Lyseni.

"I'll call them Goldcloaks on you," The Westerosi threatened me.

"They'll only hold you still while I take your fingers," I promised her. "Come now, be quick."

She looked from me to the Lyseni and then sighed, "She were with a bloke at m'tavern."

"Bloke?"

"Old fella. Grey 'air and a beard."

"You knew this man?"

"No."

I nodded, then tossed walked back to the Lyseni, handing her a couple of coins, "I'll trust this'll be enough for a few more hours." I looked back to the woman, "Your name?"

"Vex."

"Vex," I bowed my head and walked towards the door, "enjoy."

I left the brothel, looking left and right down the crowded streets. Peasants teeming everywhere, all pasty-faced and thin. This shit-pile of a city stank more than the stables in Sunspear.

"Ser Edgar," I turned around to see a small figure cloaked in darkness in an alleyway crammed between the brothel and a butcher's.

"Girl?" I took a few steps into the alleyway, and my eyes began to adjust. The figure that spoke to me was a child; her head sat a few inches above my knee. She was olive-skinned – nothing like the rest of the Westerosi. Flat-nosed with raven curls, I kept a hand on the dagger at my side – children were often cutpurses in great cities like King's Landing.

"You are kin of Ser Richard Dayne of the Kingsguard?"

I crossed my arms, leaning against the brothel, "How do you know this, girl?"

"I know things," Her eyes drifted off from me, settling on the wall beside me, "I see things. People. Creatures," She turned her eyes back to me, "He tore off his cloak. He told Viserys Targaryen to run." The girl's eyes – far too big for her face, all dark and knowing fixed on my own. "He said, 'I shall attend to this rabble'."

"Who are you, girl?"

"Folk call me Dania," The child clasped her hands like a woman thrice her age would, "Ser Richard shall find his justice, Ser Edgar."

"I'm sure," I nodded.

"No… you shan't bring him justice. Just vengeance."

"Aren't they one and the same?"

Dania frowned, and turned to face the brothel. I too turned to see the red-haired woman, Cara leave the brothel. She walked towards a looming figure in the distance. Another man with red hair, clad in steel armour with the Targaryen sigil on the breastplate. Two mis-matched eyes. Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Ser Mikal Drake.

The beauty, Cara, embraced him. He stiffly bowed and linked her arm through his as they began to stroll away. I turned back to see that the girl, Dania, had vanished. Looking back to Mikal Drake, I kept one hand on my dagger and followed him.

 **Julian - Castle Black, The Wall, The North**

I'd never seen the Wall before. Heard of it often enough though; Ancient and noble, guarding the realms of men from the many dangers that lurked beyond. Giants and Ice Dragons, grumpkins and snarks – the Wight Walkers of old…

Children's stories. I'd heard them growing up from my old mother. The fact was that there was something out there – the Wildlings. That was the only thing they fought against. Well… I suppose it was 'we' now.

I pulled the rough-spun cloak closer around my shoulders as we came to the gates of a castle. It weren't like nothing I'd seen before. The Red Keep was large and built on a history of bloodshed and murder – much like the Targaryen dynasty itself. But this castle was older… older than the Iron Throne. It were Brandon the Builder that'd constructed the Wall centuries back – the castle wasn't as mighty or awe-inspiring as the Red Keep. Typical Starks – only thought about practicality.

The Wall however, well… that was a sight to behold. Truly a wonder. A hundred leagues long, they said. It went as high as the clouds! Made entirely of ice. Why was the Night's Watch even needed? Nothing could make it past that – even Dragons wouldn't be able to fly over that!

"Take a deep breath, lads," Kenn Stark laughed, "it's the warmest you'll have for the rest of your life!"

I couldn't bring myself to smile or chortle along with him. This was going to be my home for the next… from now on. The men I'd arrived here with would be my brothers. Kenn stopped the cart inside and hopped off. We all followed and stood ready in the courtyard. All the men were dressed in black, in thick cloaks. You could tell who used to be a noble – clad in leathers, fur cloaks, tall and strapping lads… then there were the peasants. Commoners, like myself – common, simple rags dyed black and tattered capes that had probably been picked up off of corpses.

"Alright!" The voice belonged to a broad-shouldered man, who walked along a wooden, rickety balcony above us. He had thick stubble and auburn hair down to his shoulders. "Yous miserable gobshites…" He laughed. "Through that door," he pointed a gloved hand at the door behind us, "You'll find your sparring swords." He spat onto the snow below the balcony. "Partner up, and we'll see how many of you whoresons'll last through Spring."

 **So, I barely ever re-draft these chapters. I couldn't be bothered to wait any longer – you've all been waiting so long, bless your hearts.**

 **Now, the next chapter is called '** _ **A Northern Affair**_ **', and is set exclusively in Winterfell. I'm afraid it will be somewhat dull by my standards…** **Anyhoo – I'll try to update soon!**

 **R.**


	5. A Northern Affair

**So guys – a week or two since I updated. Truth be told, I've been busy as hell. Plus I've started planning, like, two or three more stories after this one. So… expect more SYOCs after this series is finished.**

 **Also, I'm kinda bummed I only got, like, 3 reviews but… hopefully we'll get some more this time. Let me know you guys are still reading otherwise… well, we all know how I can get lazy.**

 **Onwards with the story…**

 **Alvar Bolton – Winterfell, The North**

From the distance, you wouldn't have been able to tell that Winterfell was near a ruin. It was only once you were in the courtyard you saw the collapsing stone, the gaping chasm in the wall where a wooden scaffold stood. Up from the Lord's chambers, it all looked so small. The Dreadfort was large and imposing, built into the rock, but Winterfell stood on the plains alone. A tactical advantage I suppose – no forest to hide in, cliffs to position archers.

"It's kind of you to visit," Raff spoke from the chair, bare-chested with the Squire, Mylan, scraping a razor across his face, "I'm so fond of your lectures."

"You shouldn't be so quick as to disregard my advice…" I kept my eyes on the workers below.

"And what advice would that be?"

I turned around to face him as he took the rag from Mylan, wiping down his jaw. "You commanded my armies at the Dreadfort. You used cunning to defeat Markas Stark, and now you have a fugitive sought from the King locked up in the dungeons of Winterfell…" I poured two cups of wine, handing him one. "I'm impressed."

Raff let out a laugh as he stood up and walked over to Mylan, taking his shirt from the boy and pulling it over his head. "I'm waiting for the jibe."

"There is none," I assured him, "no scorn, no lecture." I took a breath. "It's never easy being wrong. And it's even harder to admit so, but I misjudged you, my son. I used to think of you as a brute – capable of nothing but baseness. Yet, you have won Winterfell from House Stark, and all but ended their line in one fell swoop."

Raff took the wine from me, his eyes narrowing as he examined me. "But…?"

"Is it so unbelievable that a man can be proud of his son?"

"When that man is you, and his son is me?"

I took the doublet from Mylan, "Leave us." Mylan bowed to Raff and me before exiting the wrong. I held up the doublet, and Raff turned to let me don it upon him. "I know I've been hard on you Raff, but a lot is expected of you. House Bolton is now the power in the North. You must learn to conduct yourself as the Warden of the North, not some common ironborn ruffian."

"I thought sweet Thea was to be Wardeness of the North?"

I nodded. Sweet Thea… the child of mine that made me proud. Beautiful like her aunt Maryana, but with an iron will and a mind of steel. I had commanded her to return from King's Landing, and yet… nothing. No response. Flint must be beside himself…

And yet, in that time since Thea had disappeared, Raff had defeated Markas Stark, broken the siege on the Dreadfort, taken Winterfell and captured Haylise the Ruined of House Baratheon. Where she had begun to flounder, Raff had begun to soar.

"You've brought honour to our House, Raff. And I know words mean little to you, so allow me to give you a gift," I placed a hand on his shoulder, "Winterfell is yours."

Raff's smarmy grin dissipated, "Mine? Winterfell?"

"Why not? You won it. Just like our forefathers did. Except this time, we shall not burn it, no. We shall use it. Theadosia shall stay in the East in the Dreadfort, when she returns, and you shall raise your sons here in the West at Winterfell."

"I'm…" Raff furrowed his brow; he was well-versed in battle and bloodshed, but it seemed he struggled to contemplate gratitude. He had a sense of calmness to him – one I hadn't seen since he played with the pups at the age of four in the kennels. "You honour me, father."

"You honour yourself, Raff. Now, come," I raised my cup to his, "before you wed, you shall have one last cup of wine as an unmarried man." I filled up our cups again with Arbor red and clinked them together, "to House Bolton and the Lord of Winterfell."

"Our blades are sharp," Raff nodded, tapping his cup against mine.

 **Alara Hornwood – Winterfell, the North**

The wedding looked lovely. Beneath the Weirwood tree in the Godswood, with Lady Lyra wrapped up inside a lily-white and gold dress. Katya Whitehill and I had been assigned to dress her. Katya sat beside me now, watching the Lady Lyra with dulled eyes.

I'd never seen Winterfell before – the Hall was so much lighter than at the Dreadfort. The hall seemed larger, also. Full of light from the candles and the fire in the hearth. Lady Lyra looked so uncomfortable there on the Lord's table, next to Raff Bolton, who seemed more concerned with cutting the skin of his pork instead of eating it.

Ilyana, meanwhile, sat in her chair, glaring at Lyra with her cold, grey eyes. She gripped her cane tightly, as if she were ready to strike someone with it again. She hadn't for two hours of the feast, though she did stick trip a serving girl with it, claiming the girl attempted to poison her wine. Raff cackled at this, while Lyra's eyes grew wild and she tried to laugh along. I knew she didn't want to – it was the same laugh I had tried to force.

"Lady Thea has not returned with you?" Katya asked me, her voice sapped of all warmth.

"No, she was to stay in King's Landing as a guest of King Aeron."

Katya was silent, sipping her wine and cutting her pork into small slithers. I never truly formed anything resembling a friendship with Katya. She was… well, strange. She always seemed like something of a shell. That is, when she wasn't attending on the young sons of nobles that sought an audience with Lord Alvar.

Now that was a man that truly beguiled me. His gaze was off-setting, especially when it was upon me. That one flint-grey eye like my own, softening upon sight of me. And, as if One-Eyed Alvar was not unsettling enough with his gaze, he appeared on the other side of my table, beside Katya and I.

"Lady Alara," He bowed his head stiffly, "Lady Katya."

"My Lord," Katya stood up and curtsied, as did I.

"Lady Alara, may I have a word in private?" Katya stood up, and I felt my stomach lurch; I didn't want to be left alone with this man. I could feel my neck constrict as if an Umber's chain wrapped itself around me. "That won't be necessary, My Lady," Alvar reached out a hand, gesturing for Katya to stay where she was, "I wish to walk with the Lady Alara."

I looked to Katya for help – a hopeless act. She could not help me, not that she would if she were able. I swallowed some wine to give me strength and then followed Alvar through the stone corridors of Winterfell. We crossed the courtyard and made our way down into the crypt of Winterfell. A long antechamber, lined with statues of the Kings of Winter. The newest one was of a figure taller than the rest, with his hands resting on a greatsword. Ice. The blade that Raff now carried upon him.

"The War in the North is over," Alvar smiled – it was strange, seeing such a man smile with such warmth.

"Now, the senseless slaughter may end."

"It shall," Alvar assured me, "Ben Stark's debt is paid. And now, we can rest and begin to rebuild the North to the glory it once was."

I'd never heard Alvar say Ben Stark's name. Usually he referred to them as Wolves, but when he said the man's name… there was a sense of sadness about him. "My Lord?"

"Yes?"

"You were friends with Lord Stark once, were you not?"

"Indeed I was," Alvar looked at the statue of Bennard, "A long time ago." I didn't want to press further – we all knew enough of the stories. Maryana escaped the Dreadfort and Alvar's torment long ago, seeking refuge with Ben Stark and birthing his bastard son. However, how other people told it, Maryana Bolton had been stolen away by Bennard, who forcefully planted a bastard in her belly. One story was more likely than the other, as Raff had honed his talent for flaying at the Dreadfort, under his father's tutelage. Alvar continued on, staring at the stone face.

"He was a friend of mine. I spent some time in this castle, when I was young. It's no surprise that Maryana came here." He turned to me, "You've heard many versions of this truth, I'm sure?"

I paused, unsure if this was a trick, "I do not listen to rumours and lies, My Lord."

"You may speak plainly," He smiled – a sad, reminiscent smile this time. "My father was a cruel man. He often… his favourite victims were those that shared his blood." He turned to me, "do you understand what I mean when I say he was a cruel man, Alara?"

I had seen the victims of Raff and Thea often. "I think so."

Alvar nodded, "If I had been there… instead of out hunting… maybe this could have all been averted," Alvar stared down at his feet – almost as if it was shame. No… not shame – this was the look of a man that felt guilt. Heavy guilt. "I killed him as soon as I had learnt what had occurred."

I stared at him in disbelief. The Boltons were reputed for their cruelty and barbarity, but I had never thought of Alvar Bolton as being capable of kinslaying. He was known for honouring the Old Ways.

"I'm not proud of it," Alvar sighed, "I did what I had to in order to protect myself and Maryana. What little good it did…"

"I'm sorry, My Lord," For once, there was no cold distance between us. He seemed less like My Lord, and more just… like a man I was talking to.

"Thank you, Alara," He smiled, placing a hand on my shoulder, "You're very much like your mother. She was kind too."

I wasn't very much like the other Hornwoods. I never thought myself to be much like my mother and father. No, I preferred my mother's family. My aunt, Melissa, and the Manderlys – whenever I passed the sea, I felt more whole. I didn't fully understand it.

"I wanted Raff to take Ben alive. I wanted him to look me in the eyes and apologise. To end this exile of my nephew, Finn. I wanted my sister's son to be raised with his family," Alvar took a quivering breath, holding one hand in the other as he began to pace in front of me, "I have sent a Raven to my daughter, Theadosia, in King's Landing," Alvar cleared his throat, "it carries a request to the King."

"A request?" I asked, a little too curiously. I composed myself, "Forgive me, My Lord, it's not my place…"

"It's exactly your place," He placed his hands behind his back. "Alara, you know your… Lady Melissa and I were betrothed for a time."

"Yes, My Lord." Alvar's eye dropped to my chest, where the gold pendant of a moose hung.

"This was hers, I remember…" He held the pendant with his thumb and finger, "She was fond of it." Alvar took another breath and resumed his pacing. "Your mother was not Eleana Hornwood. Nor was your father Jacke Hornwood."

I frowned, "Apologies, My Lord, I don't understand…"

"The raven I sent carries a request for legitimization," He smiled at me with his one grey eye. Grey like mine. "You shall have my name, and remain in Winterfell under the protection of your Lord Brother."

My mind ceased to work. All my life, Jacke and Eleana had been my parents. Melissa Hornwood had been my aunt. Then Melissa died, and so did Eleana… Jacke was the last real part of my family. Apart from Daryn, my younger half-brother, after father had re-married Wylla Locke. I suppose calling Jacke my father was misplaced now…

This man, this figure of terror across the North, One-Eyed Alvar of House Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort and Warden of the North told me he was my father. I suppose some girls would've been happy about this – more power, more wealth and a better match for marriage… But I just felt hollow.

Theadosia Bolton, scourge of the Dreadfort, a maniacal She-Demon was my blood. Raff, the ruthless and cruel monster was my blood. I was descended from the Red Kings of Old. The Flayers of the North.

But more than that, I was not a Hornwood. Nor was I a Bolton. I was a Snow. A Bastard. I remembered all the names spat about when talking of Finn Snow – a Lord's bastard. Was I the same as that? Ill-born of lust and full of malice?

"Forgive me, My Lord," I curtsied, "I wish to return to the feast now."

"Of course, take your time, my daughter." He smiled saying that word. I just wanted to cry. Cry forever.

 **Lyra Bolton – Winterfell, The North**

I had managed to slink away from my wedding feast. Raff, now my husband, had spurred on the argument between a young Lord Umber and a younger Lord Flint, and sat back to enjoy the entertainment of two men beating each other between all the tables.

Gods, this place was strange. All pork and ale in a cold, dark hall made of stone. No large and ornate pillars like in the Red Keep, no majestic knights like in Storm's End. No light like in Casterly Rock.

And I was still wearing this cursed fucking dress!

I'd suffered through the feast for four hours before I needed a reprieve. I'd stolen a cloak to pull over myself – that way I wouldn't be noticed by a townsperson and escorted back to Raff. I crossed the courtyard, trying to find somewhere I would not be found before my respite was done. Maybe then, I would be able to muster enough rest to pretend to laugh with Raff.

"You've lost your wife already?" I gasped as I heard the voice, and quickly opened a black iron gate, which creaked and groaned as it shut behind me. I muttered a curse and peered through the gate to watch my husband and father-by-law exchange words.

"Lions don't fare well this far North," Raff chuckled, "nor do Stags." Alvar nodded with a chuckle in return and mounted his horse. "Are you sure you must leave father?"

"I've invited the Townsfolk to come to me with their troubles so I may try to assist them as their new Warden. You may have to do the same someday."

Raff nodded, "I hope so, father."

"Your mother shall stay for a time," Alvar informed his son, "I've grown tired of her wailing about plots and conspiracies."

"Yes, father."

I quickly moved away from the gate – if I stayed any longer, I was sure someone would see me. Instead, I moved down the spiralled staircase, taking one of the torches from the wall. They were heavier than I thought they would be…

As I moved further down the staircase, it became to feel as though I'd found the kennels. The smells of shit and piss and dirt were far too strong, as were the cages. But, this far underneath the keep? It was a strange place for a kennel. No hounds barked, neither.

I kept walking down further, exploring my new home of Winterfell. It felt like a crypt, but not. It looked (and smelt) like a kennel, but it didn't feel like one…

"Girl," I turned towards one of the cage doors, seeing only darkness on the edge of firelight. "You're not from here."

I wasn't an idiot. A man behind the iron gate… this was the dungeons, of course. I didn't know why this voice was imprisoned here, but I couldn't show weakness.

"No. This is my husband's keep."

"I know you," another voice chimed from further own down the dungeon. A voice I recognized. Lighter and warmer. I left the man's gate.

"No, girl, wait!" The man's voice continued to plead as I hurried away from him. I arrived at the gate down at the end, where a figure leant against the gate. Her dark hair was sodden with grime. No longer like a raven's feathers, and more like pitch, which had smeared across her face. Her blue dress was torn, with deep scarlet gashes across her belly and breasts. But her eyes still shone a brilliant blue.

"Haylise?" I gasped, "Gods, Haylise, what are you doing here?"

"I was looking for Evie Stark," Haylise rasped, "Lyra, why are you here?"

"Father arranged a match for me. With Raff Bolton…"

"No- no, Lyra, you cannot marry him!" Haylise implored me, gripping the bars, "He's a monster, a beast!"

"Did he do this to you?"

"You have to leave, Lyra. You cannot stay here – go now!"

"Is there a key nearby?" I turned with the torchlight, looking for a tale or hook in the stones.

"There's no time for that!" Haylise hissed.

"I won't leave you here with him!"

"Why not?" I turned around with the torch, holding it out as far as I could. At the bottom of the stairs, a figure stood there, holding a torch which illuminated half of his face. His shorn face. "I see you've found my latest pet." Raff began to walk down the dungeon, lighting the torches on the wall to better illuminate the dungeon. "Not my finest work… No, you'd have to look at the little cub over here," Raff stopped in front of a gate, scraping a small, thin knife against the iron. "Not feeling talkative today?" Raff let out a chuckle, turning towards me, "His hearing hasn't been as good since… well, let's not dwell on that," Raff continued walking closer towards me, lighting more torches. I took several steps back, still holding the torch out like a weapon.

"What did you do to her?"

"The little doe?" Raff stopped at the gate, looking in at Haylise, who had scurried towards the back of her cell. "I've tamed her. She won't try to escape. Will you, little doe?" Haylise just glared back at Raff's grin. Raff then sheathed his knife, placing the torch in a bucket of water. His sword arm rested on the hilt of a greatsword at his waist while he offered his shield arm. "Come, the bedding ceremony awaits."

I didn't move my torch. I kept my eyes on him – growing up in the South, we'd been taught that all Northerners were wild and beastly. Raff proved these notions and more. "What are you going to do to her?"

Raff glanced towards Haylise, "I'll send her back South. The King may do as he wants with her."

"Aeron is no true King."

Raff rolled his eyes, looking to Haylise, "Is she always like this?" He groaned and leant a hand against the gate. "No King in Westeros is a true King. A King must be strong. He takes the crown because that is the duty of the strong. To rule over the weak. I was raised amongst the likes of Sigurd Greyjoy. I have learnt-"

Raff's arm was pulled through the gate, as Haylise leant back with all her weight and strength. I lunged forwards, moving the torch towards his face, but Raff grabbed it, staring me in the eye as I pushed as much as I could. But Raff was a strong man, broad-shouldered and tall. He grinned, and grabbed Haylise's wrist, pulling her against the gate, and moving my torch towards her hand.

The smell was the worst part. Like a roasted hog. Haylise screeched, dropping to her knees as Raff held her arm in place. I begged for him to stop, and he only laughed. And then I saw the hilt of his greatsword.

I let go of the torch and grabbed his sword with both hands, drawing it from its scabbard and taking a step back. The blade was so heavy – heavier than the sparring swords I'd held in the past. Raff looked at me in confusion, glancing down to his scabbard and then back to me with a smile.

"Did you just-"

"Let. Her. Go."

Raff relinquished his vice grip, moving the torch away from Haylise, who began to wrap her hand in her dress. Raff then turned towards me, pointing the torch at me. It glistened against the Greatsword, which was longer than I was tall. The cold steel still rang out across the dungeon, and the firelight illuminated the patterns of banding. It seemed to resemble flowing water. Raff threw the torch to the side and tried to stifle a loud giggle as he drew his small knife again.

"You want to play, little lion?" He took a step back, flourishing the knife in one hand. "Let's play…"

 **SO… things have occurred. I won't rattle on.**

 **The next chapter is set in Braavos, and is named '** _ **Ladies and Courtesans**_ **'. So, let me know your predictions and scenes you'd like to see.**

 **R.**


	6. Ladies and Courtesans

**Sorry for the delay in updates – life is crazy busy. So, here's the chapter,** _ **Ladies & Courtesans**_ **. I hope you all enjoy!**

 **Evie Stark – The Long Canal, Braavos**

I still couldn't understand Braavos. It was hot, full of colourful people and a scent of spice and salt wafted through the air. Lemons and limes and oranges and fig leaves were peddled through the streets. Men did not carry longswords like back in Westeros. Instead, they carried small, skinny blades at their hips with ornate handguards. Finn carried such a blade.

It was a hard thing, to tell him about father. About Markas and mother and Tylan. He wasn't smiling like he always used to. He didn't talk much as he led me to a wide canal, gaping down between the copper-coloured rooftops. He kept his jaw clenched and stroked a thumb across his sword hand, which was wrapped in black cloth.

Despite all of this, I couldn't stop smiling.

"Is all of it like this?" I asked him, "Braavos?"

Finn shook his head. Beside him, walked a large and burly man, with darker skin than a Dornishman. He wore leather across his chest, exposing his large arms. Around his belt, sat a heavy collection of small knives, and at his waist, was a strange curved blade. Unlike Finn's dark hair, tied back yet still in a mess, this man's hair was completely shorn.

"Braavos is the bastard daughter of Old Valyria," the man explained in a gruff, grunting accent, "She accepts all sorts here. Runaways, orphans, outcasts…"

Which one was he?

"Mikko," Finn muttered to the man, "when we…" Finn's eyes fell on me, and he bit his lip, quickly turning to talk in another tongue. " _Iksin nyke aōha lēkia, sir se va moriot_?"

" _Sir se va moriot_ ," Mikko nodded.

" _Lo bisa is quba, mīsagon zirȳla_ ," Finn held out an arm, which Mikko gripped and nodded. Finn then took a breath, and walked down towards a large barge on the canal.

I'd never seen a barge before. It was like a building on the water. Built from marble with red tiles. Gods, how could such a thing float?

Mikko and I followed Finn down the planks, and onto the barge, past the violet-woven sheets, and finding a beauty sitting upon a bed, a small crystalized glass of something gold in one hand. Her face was beautiful – her skin was darker, kissed by the sun. Her hair was a dark brown russet, curled to her shoulders. I couldn't make out her face though – a violet veil obscured it from me.

As Finn came closer towards her, two men entered the room, both with shields and spears with heavy helmets hiding their faces. They stood beside the woman, pointing their spears at Finn. Mikko grabbed my arm and pulled me behind him, a hand on the curved blade at his side.

"Got yourself a couple of friends, I see…" Finn raised his hands. I'd never known Finn to do this before. My heart hammered in my throat as I looked at the guards. Their eyes were fixed on Finn. The spears stayed still as statues.

"Braavos has been dangerous as of late," The woman replied. She spoke the common tongue, though there was an exotic, musical chime in her voice. "Keyholders and their private guards have been going door-to-door."

"I'm no Keyholder."

"I know exactly what you are," the woman spoke with cold indifference to Finn, placing her glass down onto a marble table beside her. "Is there a reason I should not command my men to kill you where you stand?"

"We have killed Unsullied before," Mikko spoke, "two men will not be enough."

"I suppose we shall see, won't we?" The woman leaned back.

"I need your help," Finn said quickly. His eyes were screwed closed – it was evident on his face that he found the very act of asking painful.

The woman scoffed, "My help?" She rose from the bed, "I've heard of you rescuing strays. But a Bastard shall always stay a Bastard."

I saw Finn's fist clench, his dark eyes studied the guards behind her. " _Nyke gīmigon skoros gaomā…_ " Finn closed one hand around his swordhand and steadied it in front of his waist. " _Kesan daor_."

I hated seeing him like this. Like Markas let the other Lords sneer at him at Winterfell. I moved from behind Mikko.

"Don't you dare talk to him like that," I walked towards her – she was a great deal taller than I was, but that wouldn't stop me. "I am Lady Evalyn Stark of Winterfell, Rightful Wardeness of the North," Gods, I hoped my voice wouldn't crack, "Continue to threaten me or my kin again, and I will bring the… the wrath of the North down upon you."

The woman's gaze settled upon me. I saw those violet eyes peak out from behind her veil and study me. Large and oval, staring at me with utter fascination. She turned to Finn, intrigued.

"My kin?" She repeated my words.

"Helesa," Finn took a tentative step towards the woman, despite the spears of her guards, "this is my sister, Evie."

Helesa removed her veil, revealing her tanned skin, plump red lips. Her ample bust, which had been covered by the veil was revealed as well. Mother never wanted me to wear dresses like that – she called them the garb of harlots. I also noticed a jewel around her neck – a blood red jewel in a golden frame.

"Our family's gone."

"Lots of families are gone by your doing."

Finn shook his head, turning away from her. Mikko, however took a step forwards.

"This is not the time to talk of such things," he moved his hands from the hilt of his blade, gesturing to the crystals filled with amber liquid, "shall we?"

 **Helesa Irinos –** _ **The Princess**_ **, The Long Canal, Braavos**

It had only been the better part of an hour. Yet, we still sat in silence. I couldn't keep my eyes off of Evie. I could see a slight resemblance between her and Finn. Though Evie's hair was a light blonde colour, her nose more pert and her cheeks dusted with freckles, she had the similar sharp features of Finn. She was a dainty little thing, though she was gradually starting to take on the figure of a woman.

Mikko sat at the marble table, sipping the crystallized glass of spiced rum. Evie, however, was absent of any drink. Finn poured himself another and stood up when Mikko asked about his father.

"Was he a great warrior?"

"Father?" Finn shook his head, "not particularly, no."

"Mother always said he was a great warrior," Evie frowned.

"Lady Stark didn't spend much time at war," Finn replied. He turned around to face us, "But he was a good man. Raised me where other may not have. And Markas…" Finn swallowed some more rum, screwing his eyes shut as a shallow smile crept up on his face, "he was a moody beggar growing up," he chuckled. "He had everything I ever wanted. Our father's name, a mother… he should've hated me. Gods, I wanted him to hate me. Sometimes I think that would've made it easier," Finn looked down at the remainder of his rum, "I should've been there."

"Finn…" I was glad that Mikko spoke first. I still did not want to show this villain any sympathy, regardless of how I felt for him.

"I know, I know, I'd probably have died too…" Finn ruffled his hair, "but it's better than doing nothing over here."

"Nothing?" I raised an eyebrow, "is that what you'd call it?" Finn looked eyes with me – those tired, aged eyes. Evie glanced between us, brow stitched together in confusion. She looked like Finn when she did that.

"The last time we spoke," Evie spoke up, "Markas told me that I was a Stark… that Winterfell would always be my home."

Finn chuckled to himself, "Of course he did." Evie frowned at him, "When father sent me away, he told me Winterfell would always be my home." Finn placed the rum down and began to stroke the palm of his swordhand, eyes drifting off into space. "Markas told me that Westeros was always too small for me anyway," Finn grinned. Gods, he was changeable as the seasons. After four years of damning his family, here he was reminiscing about the better times.

"What happened then?"

"Well, then," Finn filled up the glass with more spiced rum, "we went out to the Winter Town and got awful sotted." Evie laughed.

"I didn't know about that."

"Lady Stark thought I was a bad influence on him," Finn laughed with her, "It never seemed to bother Markas, mind you." I turned to Mikko, who looked to be as equally out-of-place as I was. "Tylan always wanted to come along with us…"

Evie's face fell. She quickly began to pick at her nails, licking her lips as her eyes glanced up from her fingers.

"Finn," She took a breath, "Tylan… mother made me promise. She made me promise that I'll take back Winterfell with Markas. But then he…"

Finn walked over to Evie, kneeling down and wrapping his arms around her as she turned her body to bury her face into his shoulder. Finn stroked her light hair, her pale hand pressed into his dark hair. He began to shush her, cradling her head as her closed his eyes.

"Who did it?" He asked quietly, "Who killed Markas?"

Evie pulled back from him, wiping her nose as she sobbed, "Lord Cerwyn said it was Raff Bolton," Finn stood up, holding his swordhand. A hand that closed into a fist as Evie continued, "He said it was Raff that also killed father."

"Raff…" Finn hissed. I'd heard the name Bolton before. It was Finn's mother, in the handful of times he'd mentioned her.

"You know this man?" Mikko frowned at Finn.

"Heard of him," Finn clarified, "he's my cousin."

"Your cousin slew your brother and father?"

There was a pause as Finn sipped his glass of rum, licking his lips as he set it back down, "It's a long story."

"When is it not?" Finn noticed my eyes on him. I felt ill when he stood close to me. He looked the same, and I felt the warmth within his hands just the same as before, but it was different now. Those hands were steeped in the blood of innocents and friends.

"Evie, you'll stay here with Helesa," Finn informed her, "Lord Cerwyn and his men can band together with her guard…"

"They will, will they?" I scoffed.

"Aye, they will," Finn turned to me.

I shook my head and stood up, taking my glass of rum, "I should've let you die…" I muttered, walking out of the chamber.

"Helesa," Finn called after me, before muttering a curse. I heard the clink of his glass on the marble table, and his footsteps follow me into the adjacent chamber. "Helesa, wait!"

I felt Finn's hand wrap around my arm and stop me in my tracks as I ripped my arm away from him, "I do not wish to talk with you-"

"Speak plainly Helesa," Finn kept his voice quiet, "you always have before."

"As you wish," I crept closer to him, "you killed my friends. Our friends."

"After they tried to kill me-"

"You killed them."

"You knew that I would…"

"But I didn't want you to!" I groaned. He just couldn't understand it. "Look," I held his neck and kept his eyes on mine, "You may have been justified in killing them, but you still killed my friends. Can you not see how this hurts me so?"

"What was I meant to do?" Finn took a step back, "they left me for dead!"

"An eye for an eye, and the world turns blind."

"Gods," Finn rolled his eyes, "Vollys is gone and I'm still getting his bloody lectures…"

"Vollys is not gone. He is dead."

"You think that was easy for me?" Finn stepped towards me, "I didn't want to do that…"

"Then why did you?"

"Because it was justice-"

"Was it? Or was it vengeance?"

"Sometimes they're one and the same."

"And where's the justice for what you've caused? The people being slaughtered because of your schemes?"

Finn dropped his gaze to his feet. "I'm trying to make things right…"

"I know what you're trying to do," I scoffed, looking back to the table in the next chamber, seeing Evie and Mikko sitting there, "You want to go back there, don't you? Back to Westeros."

Finn clenched his jaw, "I don't want to…"

"Yes you do. All those years you've spent damning them, and now you're ready to run back to them. The very family that cast you out. Your own brother didn't try to keep you there-"

Finn knocked over the vase of flowers beside us, pointing a cloth-clad hand at me, "Don't you dare talk to me about Markas," His voice was kept steady, like an arrow nocked, ready to be let loose. Ready for combat. "I might not have his name, but he was my brother, and Evie is my sister."

"You're not the only one to have lost people, Finn. I know what you feel-"

"No you don't," Finn scoffed, "how can you? My sister," Finn pointed back to the other chamber, "is that I have left in the world."

"Then go," I came closer to him, "what need do you have to leave her with me?" I hissed.

"Ser Derrick," Finn said eventually, "he still commands the Second Sons. If my father is gone, perhaps he can earn a pardon…"

"Oh Gods…" I chuckled at Finn's stupidity, "Sellswords? What sellswords will fight for one man's gain?"

"Kings and Queens demand it all the time."

"You are neither."

"Of course. You see me as some vermin, don't you?" I walked past him, and back into the main chamber, where Evie and Mikko sat silently. Finn followed quickly, "That's it then?"

"You've made your choice."

"Helesa!"

"What more do you have to say?" I waited for him to give me a reason – any reason to help him. I'd helped him once before. And I was certain that there was nothing in the world that could make me assist him once more.

Finn came closer, speaking in low Valyrian as his cloth-covered hand held my shoulder, "Helesa, I meant something to you once. There must have been enough between us that… that you'll keep Evie safe. Just until I return from Yunkai."

I looked at Evie. Her blonde hair, light grey eyes… she was a strange little creature. A lost wolf on the wrong side of the world. "You're not vermin, Finn," I said eventually, "even rats know when to flee a sinking ship." I moved his hand off my shoulder. "As soon as you return, I don't want to see you again."

I saw the corner of Finn's lip curl – that was the same smile that brought him into my bed all those years ago. It was a flicker of who Finn used to be. Before he became a butcher. "Don't smile," I instructed him. He quickly tried not to, but then nodded his thanks.

"Mikko," Finn walked back to the table, drinking the remainder of his rum, "keep them safe." Mikko nodded with a grunt.

"You're leaving?" Evie frowned.

"To see an old friend," Finn confirmed, kneeling down to speak to her, "Ser Derrick Mormont. He can help us."

"Mormont?"

"I'll be back soon," Finn kissed her on her pale forehead, "I promise."

"Can't I come with you?"

"You're safer here."

It sickened me. I'd chosen to believe Finn was a monster, someone incapable of love since he had severed Hilario's head from his shoulders. But, seeing him with Evie… I didn't want to believe there was this compassion in him. It just made it worse – he could have saved Hilario.

 **Taenara Faenis – The Purple Harbour, Braavos**

I pinched my dress and bent my knees into a curtsy, watching a handful of Braavosi applaud me. Behind them, the cutpurses, Norys and Belano scurried around. This was how I used to survive before my mother passed.

I was still too young to become a courtesan, though from knowing Helesa, it seemed like the best way for us to eat. Maybe in the future, if our current schemes failed, that was a life I could be condemned to.

It was never a life for me. A life for my mother, certainly, but I loved dancing. That was why Belos had picked me as his apprentice. I learnt the water-dance as if it were any other. My heart sank at the thought of him – as the former First Sword of Braavos, his body was recognized in the marketplace. His rapier was missing – apparently he had met his match in a duel, and his nemesis had claimed Belos' blade as his trophy.

Finn, Hilario, Belos… all of them had died eventually. Water-dancing was not something I wanted to pursue anymore – it seemed that these men that carried swords were the only ones who had died by them.

I watched Norys and Belano dash into one of the alleyways, and I began to make my way along the Purple Harbour, closer towards the new ships coming off – perhaps they could steal some fish?

I finished my dance again, watching Norys dip his hand into a purse and close his little hand around several coins. I gave my curtsy again, and watched the crowd collapse into sparse townsfolk, concerned with their trade and business once again.

One figure stayed standing, however. He was much taller than I, with a crooked nose protruding from his dark, seagrass eyes. He was clad in strange garb – unlike any other Braavosi I had seen. What I noticed most was his golden blonde hair.

"You there, girl," He walked towards me, a hand resting on the golden lion's head pommel of his sword, "your name?"

"Why, ser?"

The man dipped a hand into his purse and produced a golden coin, a dragon's head engraved into it. A Westerosi coin. "Your name?"

"Taenara, Ser."

"I thought so," the man smirked, straightening up, "Your hair, your eyes… it's quite remarkable."

"What is, Ser?"

"Your mother, girl," The man's eyes glanced across the nearby Bravos, "Her name?"

"Minissa Faenis, Ser."

"The Queen of Sapphires," the man nodded, "Forgive the questions. One can never be too sure," He then untied the purse from his belt, handing it to me. "Get yourself some new clothes. Grab what you need and meet me here at sunrise."

"Ser?" He seemed nice, not the sort of man who would take a young girl for nefarious purposes.

"Do you know who your father was, girl?"

"A man from Lys, my mother always said. A rich man."

"A very wealthy man," The blond man nodded. "As wealthy as a king, one may say."

"He claimed to be one but…" I shook my head with a laugh, "Braavos has no kings. Nor does Yunkai or Mereen…"

"Westeros does," the man smiled, examining my eyes with fascination. "You may call yourself Faenis, but I know you by another name. Waters."

"Who are you, Ser?"

"My name is Lucian Lannister, Lord Hand of King Aeron of House Targaryen. The man I believe to be your Bastard brother."

 **SO, plot twist. Even the creator of Taenara didn't know about that…**

 **Anyhoo, the next chapter is called '** _ **Loyalty**_ **', and is set in King's Landing, Castle Black, The Eeyrie and Winterfell.**

 **Please leave a review and let me know what you thought!**

 **R.**


	7. Loyalty

**I know I've been gone for a while, so I thought I'd treat you all to another chapter as quickly as I could. It's a pretty lengthy one so… enjoy!**

 **ALSO, we have a staggering 61 narrators featured in this series – not even counting characters like Renn Woodfoot, the Blackdog, Riler (Roto's father), Jaran Reed, some of the Kingsguard…**

 **I actually think we may have the record for most characters EVER submitted to an SYOC… that's incredible guys, well done!**

 **Now, a couple of you have asked me if I can put up a list of who's alive and who's dead in my story. Well, I would but… if someone starts reading** _ **aCoB**_ **, it'll kind of ruin the climax if I list a good 10 or so people that have died since then.**

 **I will update the character list though, because I've been working 30 hours a week and studying full-time so… yeah, this chapter took a while.**

 **Aeron Targaryen – The Royal Apartments, King's Landing, The Crownlands**

Delyth was such a beauty. I couldn't keep my thumb from stroking across her cheek, unblemished and unmarked. The waves of ash hair winded down against her fair skin, one leg slid under the linens and the other wrapped over my waist. Wisps of her hair stuck to her face, kissed with sweat. She lay her head on my chest, her finger stroking the white hairs on my chest.

"When it's born," She breathed deeply, "I want to take it to Highgarden."

"Highgarden?" I frowned.

"Our gardens are the most beautiful in the world. I've always thought that when I have a babe, I would take them there."

I pulled my arms tighter around her, "Of course. I'm sure your mother and father would love to see their grandchildren."

Delyth's smile began to fade. Her arms loosened around me, and she bit her lip. "What's wrong?"

"What makes you think something is wrong?"

"You're my rose," I ran a hand through her hair, "my Queen. I know when you're unhappy as if I can feel it in my heart."

Delyth sighed, "I know I shouldn't listen to rumours…"

"Yet?"

"Yet I keep hearing the same one. That you murdered Draegor. That you tried to kill Viserys."

I swallowed hard. The memories of my blind brother, melancholy and frail, wrapped in his linens as I drew Blackfyre and came closer to him. "And this upsets you?"

Delyth sat up, looking at me with those large, golden eyes, "I am yours, Aeron. And you are mine. There's nothing you could do that will ever change that." Theadosia had awoken something in me. Something proud and fierce, a fire in my blood. But Delyth… she was delicate. It was as though her kiss had put my heart in bloom. The smile she smiled was reserved only for me.

"It's true," I nodded. She dropped her gaze to the hair on my chest, a finger dancing along my skin. I stood up, "As long as I can remember, I was always the Bastard of the Red Keep. Even after father legitimized me," I turned back to face her, remembering playing with Visenya as a child, "Laena never so much as thought to try and treat me as her brother. I didn't expect that, but… I helped Viserys learn how to conduct himself at court. I was happy to know that Draegor planned to name me Hand upon his coronation. Visenya was sweet. Out of all of them, she was the closest in my heart. Yet even she saw me as a Bastard. A Stone." I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the memories. My eyes found Delyth in bed. The mother of my unborn child. "Do you still love me?"

Delyth stood up, the sheets slipping off of her body as she came closer and held my neck, planting her petal-shaped lips upon me. "How could I not? You are my King. My husband," her arms wound around me, "I'd kill any who threaten you."

I wrapped my arms around her waist, "Anyone that threatened me?"

"Anyone," She assured me. I tangled my hand in her hair.

"Even those of your own blood?"

Delyth smiled, laying her head against my head and breathing deeply. "Anyone."

 **Julian – Castle Black, The Wall, The North**

"Recruits!" I turned around to face Kenn Stark, who stood in the training courtyard, hands on hips. "It seems that the Lord Commander has decided yous sorry whoresons aren't entirely useless. He's deemed you worthy of a little speech!" Some of the veteran Men of the Watch chuckled, looking at each other and jeering at us. "Well, move your arses! Grab them benches and bring 'em here!"

We immediately scrambled apart, grabbing the cold, rickety benches from beneath the stairs and hobbling them together in the courtyard, moving barrels and target dummies to the sides as a cloaked man came to stand at the top of the stairs, watching all of us and conferring quietly with Kenn Stark. He was shorn of hair, apart from his large black beard. He was stocky and big-boned, dark eyes roving over us all as Kenn Stark's mouth barely moved.

"Oi," I turned to see a tall man, covered in hair and mire shove a collection of bows into my arms, "make yourself useful – take these to the armoury."

"Yessir," I nodded.

"Ser?" He let out a chortle and walked back to the other men, commanding for them to kneel and kiss his boots. I cursed to myself, trudging along through the snow to hang the bows in their racks.

I knew life would've been better for me if I had journeyed to Oldtown. But there was something in the Witch-Child's words to me. Something in the debt I owed to Kenn when he took me out of King's Landing. For better or for worse, this was where I was meant to be. No matter how much shit I had to clean up.

I returned to the courtyard, taking my place on one of the benches at the back as the shorn man clenched the bannister with gloved hands and examined all of us.

"You came to us as high-born Lords with great names, low-born peasants with Bastard names or none at all. Most of you are here because you've the honour to give your life a purpose. Others, here because you've nowhere else to go. And a few of you, are here as punishment," I felt the Lord Commander's dark eyes settle on me, "None of that matters now. There will be no dispute between any money. Whether you served the Boltons or the Starks, the Greyjoys or the Martells – every man here today is part of a new House. The House of Castle Black." The words echoed through the courtyard, finding only silence.

"Our colours are black. This castle is our home, and our land is this," he gestured to looming wall that stretched as far as the eye could see, "it's our responsibility. Whoever you were before matters not. Today, you begin anew. You will not fight for gold, not for glory, for love or King. You fight for the Realm. You know the words we swear… make sure you mean them. Or you shall suffer the fate of Oathbreakers."

Kenn Stark stepped forwards, beside the Lord Commander, "Do any of you keep the Old Gods?"

All the Northmen rose. Inexplicably, so did I. I saw the Lord Commander's dark eyes narrow as he pointed at me, "You're a Southnor, no?"

"I am, milord. I mean, I was."

"You'd forsake the Gods of your family?"

"With respect, milord, they forsook me first. This is my land now. Perhaps I shall find my own Gods here too."

The Lord Commander nodded. It was hard to tell through his heavy beard, but I thought I could see him smile, if for a moment.

"Maester Farlyn?"

The Lord Commander unfurled the large scroll and began to rattle off the names. Some I recognized – Ryswell, Blackwood, Reed, Mormont. It didn't take long for my name to be called.

"…Julian to the Rangers…"

A Ranger. Me, a Ranger! I'd oft dreamt of holding a sword, being a great hero whose name was sung across all Seven Kingdoms. But, I'd given up on those dreams when I left my boyhood behind. But the Rangers… I'd be protecting the Realms of Men against all that lay beyond the Wall.

 **Viserys Targaryen – The Eyrie, The Vale of Arryn**

"I have spent a good week deliberating over Viserys Targaryen's offer," Lord Rowen roved his blue eyes across the Lords and Knights of the Vale. Many of them were just as old as him – no doubt, they'd have followed him into battle once before. And Rylon had always said to me that the best warriors are the ones who die in their beds.

"It is true," Lord Rowen continued, "that Aeron bears the name of his father, and would have been the successor to his brother, Draegor the Blind," I felt my chest become tight, and took a quivering breath at the mention of my brother, "But Viserys has informed me that the rumours are true. Aeron killed his King and half-brother, Draegor. By law, his inheritance shall be stripped away," Lord Rowen rose from his seat, examining the men below him. I felt their eyes settle on me with begrudging loyalty.

"I understand you, Men of the Vale. Aegon the Conqueror's sister, Visenya, forced my very own ancestor to bend the knee. But this man standing before you," Lord Rowen turned to me, stretching out his hand, "is the one we owe our allegiance to. The King that has come to ask for our help instead of demanding it. And are we not Knights of the Vale?"

I half-expected cries of passion, the stomping of spears and the raising of swords at the words of man so noble and war-worn as Lord Rowen, the Silverspear of the Vale. But, I was wrong – the men nodded, the faces unflinching as they perfectly understood their Lord. The Knights of the Vale were as much stone as their land was. They had no need for cheers and such 'unbecoming' behaviour of a Lord. They were Knights, and would never act like any less of one.

"Ride home. Gather your banners. And return to me with the full force of the Vale."

The Knights of the Vale bowed and began to filter out of the Eyrie. I turned towards Lord Rowen, who used his spear as a walking stick. An ash shaft, wound in steel and dripped in silver and sapphires. The spearhead itself, was made of Valyrian steel – similar to Dark Sister, my own blade.

"I must admit," I murmured, "when I was a boy, I often-time used to steal a broom and call myself Rowen the Silverspear." Rowen let out a short chuckle, shaking his head and looking at the spear, as if it was an old friend. "I look forward to seeing you in battle."

Rowen let out a laugh, "I'm in my fifth decade in this world, I fear I'd be little help on the battlefield. My daughter, Sarissa, has grown ill once again," Rowen sat back down in his seat, "I would stay here and tend to her."

"A brother will ride with your men, then? A cousin?"

"There was on person that came to mind," Lord Rowen rested his spear against the arm of his throne, "I saw you conversing with my daughter, Lilyen."

"What of it?"

"Do you think she is ready?"

"For war?" I shook my head, "I don't know. Would your men follow a woman?"

"They'll follow whomever I tell them to follow."

I nodded, "She still has a lot to learn," I said quietly, remembering her spar a handful of days ago, "but she's far more skilled than I was when I rode off to the fishing villages."

Lord Rowen nodded, his eyes focusing on my face. I knew what he was looking at – the scar. The one that given me the name 'Viserys the Bold'. I grinned – I supposed that I hadn't changed too much since that time.

"Well, she wants to fight… perhaps that means she's ready to." Lord Rowen rose again. "Come, let us take lunch…"

"Forgive me, My Lord, but I must return to Dragonstone."

"So soon? I just declared war on the crown for you," Lord Rowen laughed, "surely we may eat or share a cup of wine?"

"I intend on receiving Lord Celtigar. A despicable man, but one with ships. I doubt Lord Corlys is prepared to deal with him." I bowed my head, "Farewell, My Lord."

Lord Rowen knelt, "Farewell, My King."

 **Ser Edgar Sand – Fleabottom, King's Landing, The Crownlands**

It was an small shop on Gin alley, with sausages dangling from hooks, flanks of pork and rashers of bacon laid out on the table. A few young men consorted there, greeting each other as the elderly shopkeeper, a thin wisp of a man, shooed them away as soon as coin touched his skin.

"That's the man?" I asked the small boy, raising an eyebrow. The boy nodded his hair, sopping with mire.

"Yessir, that's Old Anderen, that is."

I eyed the small boy once again. Little more than skin and bones. Such gutter rats did not exist in Sunspear, or anywhere else in Dorne for that matter. He couldn't have been older than nine or ten. I took the purse from my belt and handed it to him. As his fingers clasped shut around the cloth, I grabbed his neck.

"If you have fed me a lie, I shall find you and pluck your tongue from your head, and then feed it to you," I leant forwards, "I know your name, young Mortin. Understand?"

"Yessir."

I nodded, and slapped his shoulder, then turned to the guards that accompanied me. With a short nod, they stood to attention and followed me towards the Butcher's shop. Old Anderen weather-beaten brown skin glistened with sweat. He turned his crooked lumpy nose to us, his narrow brown eyes tightening as his hand tightened around his cleaver.

"Anderen the Butcher?"

"Yes…"

I gently held the sausages, examining them, "How do you Northerners eat this without becoming fat?"

"This is King's Landing, not the North."

"And I am from Dorne. Making you a Northerner to me."

Anderen leant forwards, "I'm not sure I like your tone, Dornishman."

"It's an acquired taste," I nodded, "much like our wine. Too… strong for your Northern tongues." I let out a chuckle, "I was wondering if you could help me."

"With what?"

"I'm looking for a certain type of meat… I'm afraid I cannot see it here."

"Go to the _Goldfinch_ and find your meat there boy-fucker."

I let out a laugh, "Perhaps I shall… I have business first."

"What business? Looking for a goat?" He let out a smug chuckle.

"No, no," I laughed with him, "I'm looking for whore's meat." Anderen's grin subsided, though I stayed smiling. I saw his eyes dart to the royal guard beside me. Those little brown eyes, no glib remarks or misplaced superiority left. "What did you do with their bodies? Put them in your sausages?"

Anderen leant forwards, hissing frantically, "It wasn't murder- they were spies! Betraying their neighbours, their family-"

"How did you murder them?" I picked at my nails, "Pay for their time, drop the bodies off in the alleys?"

"I tell you, Aeron has turned Fleatbottom into a nest of vipers!"

"You've confused me with someone who cares," I shrugged, turning to my guard, "Take him…"

Anderen wrenched his cleaver from the table, which he pushed up on me. I fell backwards, watching my escort rush towards the frail old man as his limped off into his shop. I pushed myself up, wiping the meat off my armour.

I heard frantic yells inside the shop.

"No…" I growled, then rushed inside, seeing my guard sticking him with their swords time and time again, as if he were one of the pigs. "You fucking cretins…"

I pushed the guards off Anderen, seeing the old man let out one final breath as he fell limp on the ground. I groaned, turning around to them.

"Ironic, isn't it?" One of the men beamed, "A butcher is butchered in his own butchery…"

Some of the men stifled a chuckle. "That's funny," I chuckled, "tell me, what's your name, man?"

"Lomar, Ser."

"Lomar…" I nodded, taking his sword and striking him in the face. The pommel flew onto the floor as I placed the blade back into his hand. "I'll be sure to tell our King your funny joke."

 **Alara Hornwood – Winterfell, The North**

I could hear the screams before I arrived in the dungeon. I'd nearly forgotten how awful the screams were of Raff and Theadosia's playthings. Theadosia was a demonic entity, but Raff… brutality was in his blood. His nature.

My blood.

The thought still sickened me. To know that Raff and Thea had the same Bolton blood as I did. I was not even a Hornwood. I was a Bastard. A Snow. I wanted to reach into myself and pull out this tainted part of me. I was not treacherous like Aeron Targaryen, nor was I as animal-like and violent as Finn Snow.

Though I was like him. He was a Bastard of House Bolton, as was I. But no, I'd heard the stories of him attacking boys younger than himself, even knocking his brother Markas unconscious in their youth. I was not a Bastard!

…

But I was.

"Okay, this is my favourite game!" I could Raff laughing, "You say a name of one of your men, and I cut you if they're still alive!"

I hovered by the door, seeing a crudely-constructed cross that Markas Stark was strapped to. Clad in only breeches and boots, with numerous grotesque scars across his chest, blood dripping down onto the cold stone slabs below him. His black hair wet with grease and sweat. He looked up at Raff, shaking his pale face.

"Go on," Raff grinned, twirling his thin knife.

"I'm not playing, Raff," Markas croaked.

"Markas, my little wolfling," Raff wrapped an arm around Markas' neck, whispering into the grisly mess where his ear used to be, "I get awful fed up when people don't play with me." Raff examined his knife, which dripped Stark blood. "Maybe I'll find someone else to play with…"

Markas' bright silver eyes glared up into Raff's, flint-grey and full of malice and glee.

"Lord Robard Reed," He snarled.

Raff let out a giggle, "Oh, terrible choice…" He spun the blade around in his hand and began to needle the end of the blade behind Markas' remaining ear. Markas clenched his jaw, his hands balled into fists until Raff removed the blade. "Again?"

"Domeric Reed."

Raff let out another titter, "Don't you understand the game?" He began to dig the knife beneath Markas' collarbone. Markas let out a groan, his body tensing as he leant forwards, spit flinging from his gritted teeth. Raff finally removed the knife, turning back to face Markas. "Again."

Markas' chest heaved as he leant back against the cross. "The Redbeard."

Raff held the knife, moving towards Markas' manhood. His smile widening, showing all teeth like a wolf. Then, as he gripped the blade firmly, he moved it away and began to pace. "Very good, boy. You're learning."

Markas breathed a sigh of relief. Raff turned to see me at the entrance to the door, holding the bucket and cloth.

"Can I help you?" He asked incredulously, placing his hands on his hips.

"I've come to clean his wounds, My Lord."

"Clean his wounds?" Raff looked at Markas in surprise, "Look, Markas, we've found your wet nurse," he grinned before facing me again. "Why?" I opened my mouth to speak, in hopes of fabricating some lie to persuade him, but Raff continued speaking, "It doesn't matter… Let's give you something to clean then." Raff took the knife and began to flay Markas, needling his knife around his nipple, and stripping away a ribbon of skin down to his navel. Markas screamed, his face contorting and eyes screwing shut as Raff Raff took the skin and tossed it on the floor. "I'll take another trophy later," He said, strutting over to me and dipping his knife in the water. He gave me a brief smile and sheathed the knife in his belt, leaving the dungeon cell with a whistling tune.

I walked over to Markas, who still gasping for air, groaning gently, teeth gritted as he winced hissed in pain. I dipped my rag into the bucket and rung it before dabbing it across Markas' bloodied skin. He winced again, eyes groggy as I dragged the cloth across.

"Sorry," I murmured, cleaning his face as best I could. Markas' gaze fell down to my bosom.

"A moose…" He looked up at me, one eyebrow so bruised it swelled over his eye, "You're Jacke Hornwood's daughter." I kept my eyes on the rag. I couldn't muster the strength to lie. "He's a good man," Markas croaked, "he loves you very much."

"Thank you," I dipped the rag in the water again, "and thank you for sparing his life. You didn't have to."

Markas nodded, "He mentioned you. He only bent the knee to the Boltons out of fear of what may happen to you if he did not."

I knew that Markas had confined Jacke to Hornwood castle, but I did not know the reasons he had accepted the surrender. "He told you this?"

"Not in so many words."

"That was why then? Why you pardoned him? Because he served the Boltons out of fear?"

"Long ago, my ancestors spared the Red Kings because they said that enough blood had been spilled. Tohrren Stark bent the knee to Aegon the Conqueror to save the lives of his men…" I wiped the blood from his mouth, "I simply did what I believed my father would have done."

I nodded, "Lord Hornwood talked loudly and frequently about growing up with Lord Bennard."

"Lord Hornwood?" Markas frowned. "You mean, your father?"

My lips became dry. I cleared my throat and shook my head, smoothing my frazzled hair, "Forgive me, My Lord, I must get fresh water." I didn't wait for him to respond, I simply curtsied and then picked up my bucket and left as fast as I could.

 **Julian – Castle Black, The Wall, The North**

Beyond the Wall was… Gods, it was like nothing I'd ever seen. Forest and snow as far as the eye could see. Ravens soared out from the thicket and crowed as they dipped near us.

"I wouldn't look so worried," I turned to one of the men beside me, who walked with something of a swagger, "there's worse than ravens out here."

"Yeah, there's giants, wight walkers…" Spoke another man.

"Don't forget the ice dragons!" The first man laughed. He slapped my back, "What's your name, friend?"

"Julian."

"Julian," he nodded, "I'm Wyllis- Will," He held out an abnormally large hand, which I shook. Though he was covered in mire and an unkept beard, there was something in how he carried himself. The slick wit of a nobleman – I'd learnt to recognize this back in the Street of Steel. "What's your story, Julian?"

"I was a blacksmith in King's Landing."

"A smithy," Will laughed, "we've not had a smithy come out here before…"

"No, there was that one, Garrett. The one that the Thenn killed."

"Ah, right, Garrett," Will nodded, "such was a man from down south, now just a taste on the bloody Thenn's mouth," Will sang loudly. The other veterans with us laughed, shaking their heads. He was a good singer – better than the rowdy folk I'd seen in taverns. Will began to cough, and grabbed his throat, "Damned fucking cold… I think I'll need an ale to remedy this."

I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders – I felt my skin start to freeze as we journeyed deeper into the woods. "So, why are you with us? Running away from some crime down South? Or are you chasing glory?" Will drew his sword, as if battling some great unseen monster, "Defending the Realm against Snarks and Giant Ice Spiders?"

"Piss off," I croaked.

"Calm down lad," Will chuckled, shoving me playfully, "We don't get visitors much. You'll learn…"

We eventually came to the Weirwood tree. A pale white oak, with crimson and gold five-pointed leaves. It's wide trunk nestled into the sun, and cradled in the light of the falling sun. I'd heard tales that the Weirwood trees could be found across Westeros – back in the Age of Heroes. Now, however, they only existed in the North. As I came closer, I could distinctly make out dark, blood red eyes, the sap trickling down the carving on the tree. It was as though I had come face to face with the Crone.

"No need to feel shake like a leaf," Will knocked his shoulder into mine, "Weirwoods are far from the strangest things you'll see out here."

I knelt in front of the tree, beside the Northern recruits. I waited for them to start talking, and quickly joined in.

"Hear my words and bear witness to my vow. Night gathers, and so my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory," I took a deep breath; it wasn't an easy thing to do – relinquish my own freedom to the Watch. "I shall live and die by my post. I am the sword in the darkness, I am the watcher on the Walls. I am the shield that guards the Realms of Men. I pledge my life and honour to the Night's Watch. For this night, and all nights to come."

"You knelt as boys," Will spoke from behind us, "now rise as Men of the Night's Watch."

We all stood, turning to face each other and embrace. I'd never had a brother before – Roto was close but… well, I tried not to think of him. I turned around to see Will clasp my shoulders, "Come lads, we'll need a flagon of ale for this sodding cold!" We all laughed, and I began to embrace the smiling veterans.

"I doubt it'll do much to warm us up," I said to Will.

"Aye, lad, but it'll numb us to the point that we can't feel it!"

 **This was a ma-hoosive chapter. Took me ages to write… But, I feel as though it was worth the wait.**

 **The next chapter is named '** _ **A Wolf Alone**_ **' and takes place in Braavos, Karhold and King's Landing. Yes, I'll finally be introducing a Karstark.**


	8. Blood Ties

**Sorry for the long pause in updates. I just kept adding to this chapter because I was like 'Hey, we haven't seen Vysella… I should include her more.' And then 'Oh, I need to include this bit much more…' And then it took me, like, 4 days to think of a good chapter name for this...**

 **I need Wildings/Free Folk!**

 **I need Men of the Night's Watch!**

 **So far, I've received no characters from Beyond the Wall, and I'm going to need some. This 'Night's Watch' storyline has the potential to be one of the best story arcs in this series, but I need the characters to help me out.**

 **Anyhoo…**

 **Here's the chapter! Let me know if you guys are still reading and what you want to see happen. Let me know what / who / where you want to see more of. I know Dragonstone hasn't been shown for a while, but that's in the next chapter.**

 **Vysella Targaryen – The Royal Apartments, The Red Keep, King's Landing, The Crownlands**

Confined to quarters. Not even to my quarters – I suppose Aeron could have moved me to the dungeons as he did with my daughter, Laena, for a time. But I was no mere Lady, I was a Targaryen. For years I had reigned with my brother, Rhaegon, over the Seven Kingdoms. I had survived the Ironborn Raids two decades ago, I had survived Aeron's coup. And now? I was a prisoner in my own home.

Draegor, murdered in his bed. Viserys, slaughtered at Storm's End. Laena was no less a prisoner than I, and Visenya was all alone. She wasn't suited for war. No, Visenya was a princess. She… she should be with her family. There was no worse thing in the world than a Targaryen alone.

The door creaked open, and the gargantuan Lord Commander Mikal Drake ushered in my nephew, Aeron. He was clad in a black doublet over his red silken shirt. My family's blade, Blackfyre, swung at his hip.

"My Lady," Aeron walked in and sat himself in one of the chairs, helping himself to a cup of wine.

"Aeron," I kept my eyes on Ser Mikal. Aeron noticed this, and laughed.

"If I planned on killing you, it would've happened a long time ago."

"How fortunate for me."

Aeron sipped the wine, "It's customary to refer to your King as 'Your Grace'." He must have known I would never call him as such. A true Dragon would never kneel. They'd sooner die before they submit. "Still… it's hard to change your ways. A woman at your age…" He sighed. "It must be hard; To have been a Queen for so long, and now simply be just a Lady of the court."

"True, I am," I nodded, "Yet I am still the truest Targaryen in this room."

Aeron bit his lower lip. He looked like Rhaegon, with his violet eyes and silver hair cropped short. He had my father's sharp jaw and high cheekbones. Truly, a beautiful man. On the outside, at least.

He was sweeter than poison, yet he'd kill you all the same.

"Ser Mikal, please leave us." Ser Mikal bowed his head, and closed the door. "I kept you alive," Aeron shook his head, "I allowed you to live in the Royal Apartments…"

"As a prisoner. Have you truly forgotten all you have done?"

"Ah, of course," Aeron nodded, "killing your firstborn…"

"My son Draegor was murdered," I corrected him, "Then you slew Viserys at Storm's End after naming him an Oathbreaker. Now you wage war against Visenya."

"I spared your daughter, Laena."

"You expect me to praise you for one act of decency? That simply means you are still a man…" I scoffed, looking him up and down, "in the broadest sense of the word."

Aeron clenched his jaw, and rose from his chair, leaning on my table. "Viserys already fell at Storm's End. Draegor died in the room next to you." Viserys… always the soldier. After the weeks of sobbing at the news of this, I felt my heart swell. Viserys was proud and stubborn, yes, but he was a good man. He would have been a great King. The thought of this only made me sob more.

"Soon, all your children will be dead," Aeron straightened up.

"No," I shook my head, "not all of them."

Aeron rolled his eyes, "Laena? She's already demonstrated her obedience to me. Winterfell is now a ruin because of her." Aeron grinned a snake's grin. "She's mine, now."

 **Helesa Irinos – The Long Canal, Braavos**

Finn had spoken about his family before. His stern father, Lord Bennard, the quiet brother Markas and the louder, more wild Tylan. But all Finn had ever said about Evie is that she loved books. The only other thing Finn had mentioned about her was her tendency to cry when Finn and Markas didn't play with her.

She didn't look like that sort of girl. From what I'd heard her tell Finn, the girl Finn grew up with would've been in tears right now. Yet, Evie sat quietly, sipping the wine I'd laid out for her. She didn't look like Finn at all. Blonde hair, freckles… the only similarity was in their pale skin. Though her eyes were alike. Not the same, no, alike; Whereas Finn's were the darkest I'd ever seen, Evie's were a bright and shimmering grey.

"Why are you staring?" Evie cleared her throat.

"You don't look like him."

"Finn?" I nodded, "I don't look like any of my family," Evie held out a strand of her pale blonde hair. "Also… well, Finn's my half-brother."

"I know," I poured more wine into Evie's glass.

"Finn told you about that?"

"He told me about everything," I sipped my spiced rum. "How your mother was cold. Your father exiled him. All of you cast him out…"

"We didn't cast him out!" Evie protested fervently. I let out a chuckle.

"Evie," I sighed, "raising your voice does not make you right."

She took a breath and closed her eyes. When they opened, she looked at me with purpose and control. "We did not cast him out," she stated. "Father exiled him."

I nodded, "Good. Now, why did Lord Bennard do so?"

Evie opened her mouth, her eyes drifting off to the stretch of canal behind me, "I don't know." She bit her lip, "But I never cast him out. Neither did Markas, and neither did Tylan."

I smiled – Evie was a quick learner. I doubt she even knew how smart she was. I leant forwards, "If you doubt yourself when you talk, people will not listen to you. Remain calm and believe in what you say."

Evie furrowed her brow, "When did you learn this?"

"A friend of mine," I kept my voice level, speaking slowly so my voice would not crack, "Belos. He knew a great many things."

"Like what?"

"He knew how to handle a blade better than any man this side of the Sea."

Evie frowned, "So, how does that…"

"The skills of a sword are still skills. If you doubt yourself, you'll most likely end up dead in this world."

There was silence as Evie nodded slowly, soaking up my words. I continued to sip my rum and pulled a purple grape from it's stem, placing it in my mouth and savouring the sweet juices inside it.

"Finn's… different," Evie finally said, "to how he used to be, I mean." I raised an eyebrow. "Well, I mean, he's… more serious."

I scoffed, "Finn Snow is never serious."

"No, he- when he was back home, all he used to do was… just drink and brawl."

"Then he hasn't changed much at all," I didn't want to tell her what he'd done here. Well, I did but… Evie couldn't speak about her brother without smiling. For a girl that just lost her family, I couldn't tell her that the only family she had left had all but destroyed this city.

"Mikko told me that he's killed people," Evie stated. "Did he kill someone close to you?"

I nodded, "Two people."

Evie looked down at the crystal glass between her hands, "I'm sorry. Did they-"

"They struck the first blow, it's true." I plucked another grape, "But I don't know if they deserved it."

"How did you meet him?"

"Finn?" I couldn't help but smile, remembering that young man that traipsed after Belos and Hilario four years ago. Walking with swagger and bravado, though he reminded me of a child, fascinated by the colours and spices and sounds of my city. "He and Belos were tasked with escorting the Sealord of Braavos to my barge."

"The Sealord came to visit you?"

"Often," I nodded. "He enjoyed conversing with me. We would talk about the Gods, the Braavosi, tales told by the sailors of whaling ships."

"Oh." Evie still looked confused, chewing a grape. I'd heard what trade women across the Narrow Sea did. Nothing as refined as myself.

"You are confused."

"I…" Evie let out a nervous chuckle, "I thought you were… well, a whore."

"I am no whore. I am a courtesan."

Evie stopped chewing. "What's the difference?"

I couldn't stop myself from laughing at this. That was exactly what Finn had said when he learnt of my profession. "The difference is that I have a barge."

 **Lord Commander Mikal Drake – Fishmonger's Square, King's Landing, The Crownlands**

Cara looked truly beautiful. Walking ahead of me, a basket in one hand as she began to stroke a hand along the scaled trout and blackfish. She was in a simple blue gown with a plunging neckline, showing her bare and pale shoulders. Her red hair pulsed in the sunlight, catching the eye of many a man, who'd notice me, and then turn away.

"If you want food, you're more than welcome to take dinner in my chambers," I informed her.

"I enjoy cooking," she informed me with a laugh. "When's the last time that you cooked?" I shrugged in response. "Everyone needs to know how to cook. What do you plan on doing after you leave the Kingsguard?"

"There's only one way to leave the Kingsguard."

Cara rolled her eyes, "You Knights are all so pre-occupied with death and honour and oaths…" She linked her arm into mine, "You act like there's nothing else."

"What else is there?"

"Life? Drink?" She leant in to my ear, "A good fuck?" I felt my cheeks run hot, and immediately wanted to take my helm from my hand and place it upon my head. Cara giggled, "You haven't told me much about yourself."

"What is there you wish to know?"

"You are from House Drake."

My throat constricted, "I am."

"Yet I've heard nothing of House Drake."

I nodded, "We never had much growing up. A small keep near Cracklaw Point."

"In the Stormlands?"

I nodded, "Durlaw Drake was the founder – one of the dragonseeds." Cara frowned at this phrase. "A dragonseed is a ba… a natural-born Targaryen."

"You can say Bastard," Cara stage-whispered to me, "I shan't recoil in horror," She squeezed my arm, "What about your family?"

"Gone."

"Oh…" Cara's smile dissipated, "I'm sorry."

"It was some time ago," I assured her, "illness took them both. And I've relinquished my titles…" I sighed, "All that's left is the name. And after I pass, that too shall fade away."

"That…" Cara stared at me, her beautiful sky-blue eyes shining in the sunlight as her pupils drew smaller, the sapphires growing like waves around an isle. "That would make a wonderful song."

I scoffed, "A song?"

"Songs last for centuries – longer than any dynasty."

I nodded, "I must be the first butcher to have a song written about him."

Cara let out a chortle, "You must be!"

I kept looking at her eyes. I didn't know how to move… or, I did, but I didn't wish to. I just froze. Not out of fear or shock, I was just… I don't quite know.

Then Cara leant forwards and pressed her lips against mine. I felt my arms wrap around her. Then I remembered wrapping my arms around Daisy as she lay, bleeding upon my armour. I quickly pulled back from her.

"Mikal?"

"What if someone sees?"

"Why would that matter?"

I opened my mouth, and closed it again. I was a Knight of the Kingsguard. Not to mention that enemies often target those closest to you.

"I need to tell…"

"I shall continue my errands alone, Ser," Cara straightened up and turned away from me, marching across the square and through the throngs of townsfolk.

 **Brigot Karstark – Karhold, The North**

I held the ravenscroll between my fingers. Re-reading each of the words, checking to see if I had misunderstood.

Little Lorra Reed, first-born daughter of Robard Reed, intended to march North from the Neck with the remaining forces of Greywater Reach and take up arms against the Boltons. I looked to my husband, Jon, who stared into the fire in his hearth.

House Stark, our kin, was gone. Markas was taken prisoner in his own home, Ben murdered on the field, Margareth burnt in her keep with her baby boy Tylan, and little Evie had perished in the South as a Baratheon. Since Ben had died, the Starks had not been as they were. Markas Stark had been too young, too naïve to wage war.

"Husband?"

He turned towards me, his grey eyes tired. "The War in the North is over." He stood up, grabbing his cane. "No use fighting a dead man's war."

"Jon," I took a few steps towards him, "the war's not done yet. The Bolton forces are divided between the Dreadfort and Winterfell. If we are to unite with Lorra Reed…"

"Listen to yourself, woman!" Jon glared at me. "I've fought for Ben for four years. We've been in this bloody siege for eight months – I can't take a shit without hearing the damn Umbers outside." He sighed, "Now that the Starks are done, they'll march on us with their full strength." He shuffled back into his chair, "You must regret our marriage…"

Five years ago, my parents had arranged a match for me with Raff Bolton. A Bolton husband is something that no woman in the North desired. Thankfully, the monster was a ward of the Greyjoys at the time. By the time he arrived back to the Dreadfort, Jon Karstark had wedded me and taken me into his home at Karhold.

"Let us unite with Lorra Reed." I held his hand, "Just because the Starks are gone, it doesn't mean that we have to accept the Boltons as our rulers."

Jon groaned, hobbling away from me and facing the fire once again, leaning against the wooden mantle. "If we were to do so… how would we proceed?"

I looked back at the ravenscroll. "Lorra Reed wants to march North. House Mormont are still loyal."

"Three Houses. Against the rest of the North?"

"There are other houses that will join our side. As soon as they realise they don't _have_ to join the Boltons… if they see an army that can rival them-"

"We don't have an army. Five hundred men is not an army."

"Well, we can ask Aleks-"

"Aleks?" Jon shook his head, "My brother has relinquished his House."

"He's still a Northman. And no matter what oaths he has sworn, he's still a Karstark. He can command the Night's Watch to march on the Dreadfort…"

"I will not ask my brother to forsake his oath," Jon growled.

"His oath is to protect the Realms of Men. It was a Stark who built the Wall. Loyalty must mean something-"

"How can you expect him to march on the Dreadfort for loyalty? His loyalty is to the Night's Watch!"

I shook my head. "I will fill a wagon with food and ale, and travel North to Castle Black."

"Are you touched in the head?"

"Alvar Bolton is many things, but he respects the Watch. They won't halt me."

"But…" Jon rubbed his brow, "Do we have food to spare?"

"If we don't find allies, we'll die regardless. Husband- Jon," I held his cheek, "trust me."

 **Ser Edgar Sand – The Red Keep, King's Landing, The Crownlands**

The throne room was filled to bursting with Lords and Ladies. Lovely-looking knights and even their even lovelier wives. It seemed that he had called all manner of nobles to bear witness to him fulfilling his promise.

"Lords and Ladies of the Realm," Aeron rose from the throne, "many of you were nervous when I invited Ser Edgar to stay in King's Landing. But Ser Edgar is no simple Dornish brute. Before you stands a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms. Behold," He held out a hand to the bag I clutched in one hand, "the head of the Ripper of King's Landing."

The hall was silent. The rough-spun canvas in my hand weighed heavily, the blood of the old butcher Anderen trickled and dropped through the bag and onto the stone slabs we all stood upon. All of us, apart from Aeron.

"After the murder of Ser Baldinar Baratheon, who died nobly defending my own father, Lord Oroville, I have only had six Knights in my Kingsguard. But much has changed during my reign, and I am proud to name the Dornish Knight, Ser Edgar Sand as the seventh Knight of my Kingsguard."

Ser Mikal strode towards me, holding the white and gold cloak, folded up under the silver helm. I bowed my head, accepting the cloak and helm, and beamed proudly as the throne room erupted into thunderous applause.

Never had a Dornishman been praised before the Iron Throne.

"The last time a Dornishman stood where you stand now," Ser Mikal muttered out of the side of his helm, "I drove my sword through his belly." My hand balled into a fist that clutched the cloak. "I trust that you will be more loyal than he was."

"Of course, My Lord," I forced a smile, "I'm much smarter, also."

"Dornish arrogance…" Lord Commander Mikal scoffed, "it's unmatched in the Seven Kingdoms."

"As is our vengeance," Lord Mikal raised his scarred eyebrow beneath his helm. "Soon my debt to you shall be paid, Lord Commander."

Mikal placed one steel gauntlet upon my shoulder, smirking at me, "I wish you good fortune in the battles to come, Ser."

 **So, stuff has been happening. To be honest, this is more of a set-up chapter than anything else… So, drop a review, let me know what you think.**

 **So, NEXT chapter is going to be called '** _ **A Wolf Alone'**_ **(which, yes, was originally the title for this chapter, but didn't really fit), and will take place in Yunkai, Dragonstone, The Riverlands and King's Landing.**


	9. A Wolf Alone

**Hey guys! So, my current writing process is a POV a day, so that should be 2 to 3 chapters every two weeks.**

 **So, we're back to Dragonstone! Let me know what you think of new characters and… enjoy!**

 **Corlys Velaryon – Dragonstone, The Crownlands**

Lord Maegar Celtigar was a vile man. His hair had greyed, his blue eyes dulled and dark. His hands were weathered as much as any sailor, but the ornate jewels that sat upon his garb were bigger and brighter than any King or Queen's.

"Little Lord Corlys," Maegar smirked at me, climbing the steps and laying a hand upon Viserys' throne, "Strange to find you here."

"Our families swore to serve House Targaryen."

Maegar nodded, striking his finger into the engravings of the arm of the throne, "I expected to be greeted by Viserys. Or, at the very least, his sister…"

"King Viserys and the Princess Visenya are away forging alliances. The Princess Visenya herself entrusted me to act on her-"

"Oh, His Grace didn't care enough to forge any such alliance with myself? Instead he had one his dogs summon me?"

I clenched my fist; Maegar was two decades older than myself, with one of the largest fleets in the Seven Kingdoms. Not that he ever went to war. No, Maegar was the man to hold a large fleet _so_ he would never go to war. But it was more than that – Maegar was more than I could ever hope to be.

"After all I have done for that family… lending them my wealth, summoning my fleet, losing my own wife…" He lingered in front of the throne, his eyes fixed on it as the tide rumbled and roared outside, "And yet the Lord of Tides acts as though he is the Hand himself…"

"I am no Hand, My Lord," I glowered at him, "I am simply a servant of House Targaryen."

"Spoken like a truly loyal dog…" Maegar sneered. His smile vanished as the doors to the hall creaked open, and in walked Viserys. His hair was tussled from his journey, and Dark Sister swung at his hip freely while he pulled off his black leather gloves.

"Your Grace," I knelt, as did Celtigar's guard. Viserys paid them no mind, and walked up towards the throne, gesturing for me to rise. "Lord Maegar of House Celtigar has…"

"Nephew," Maegar opened his arms, smiling widely as he embraced Viserys, "how long has it been?"

"Years," Viserys replied as he sat on his throne, wincing as he leant on his right, his arm still weak from the Razing of Storm's End. "It's good to see you, My Lord. I trust that your presence means your fleet shall be added to Lord Velaryon's?"

"Yes…" Maegar grimaced at me, "though, I trust that my men shall be well-rewarded?"

"A reward for fealty? Your ancestors swore to serve mine."

"You and Aeron share the same ancestor," Maegar clasped his hands behind his back.

"Aeron is a Kinslayer and an Oathbreaker-"

"And Aegon the Conqueror took the Seven Kingdoms because he could. He had no birthright, just three dragons." Maegar sighed, "Aeron _is_ the eldest Targaryen, legitimate by a royal decree. Not to mention that he sits on the Iron Throne. Following you into battle, Nephew… well, it puts me at great risk."

"You are my family, by law. Does family mean nothing to you?"

"I was given a barren maiden," Maegar waved a hand, "she yielded me no sons."

"You talk of a member of the House Targaryen, My Lord," I felt the hilt of my sword graze my palm.

"I talk of my first wife," Maegar spat the words at me, "mind your place, man. I fought off the Ironmen with my fleet while you were swinging a sword at your tree."

"If I remember right, My Lord, the Celtigar fleet was nowhere near Dragonstone during the siege."

Maegar blinked and began to stammer, searching for the right words as his cheeks flushed deeply, "I was… concerned that the Ironborn may have tried to launch an assault on King's Landing…"

"Even when my mother was in danger?" Viserys rose from his throne, "Your sister, by law? Do you think that your wife, my aunt, may still breathe today if you had not been so cowardly?"

"I'll not have my honour questioned by a mere boy-" Maegar turned to walk, but Viserys grabbed his arm.

"I am your King, first and foremost," He leant in close, hissing lowly, "And should you dare imagine you may make demands of me again, I'll have your hands," Viserys released his grip, glaring at Maegar's guard, who all remained kneeling. "Scurry back to Claw Isle, Uncle. Gather your fleet and return to me, or I shall mount Broxagon and burn your pathetic little island myself!"

 **Visenya Targaryen – Riverrun, The Riverlands**

Lord Bryce sat at his table, swilling a glass of Arbor Gold as he watched his bastard, Brandon, reading the stories of Aegon the Conqueror to his little Melissa. It was clear from my conversation with his wife, the Lady Cecilia, that Bryce cared deeply for his bastard, but seeing that look in his eyes hurt. My father once held the same eyes when he looked upon Aeron.

And how did my bastard brother repay our father's kindness? By decimating his legacy.

"It will take some difficulty to muster the forces for a march down to King's Landing," Lord Bryce informed me, "Sigurd Greyjoy believes the Ironmen should rule the Riverlands as they once did before. As soon as my armies move South, his shall sweep in."

"And like Aegon did before, my brother and I shall use our dragons to rid the Riverlands of the Ironborn once again." Bryce nodded, stroking his beard.

"Shall we speak plainly, Your Grace?"

I leant back in my chair, "I should like that very much, My Lord."

"My father always worried about his legacy. And, as you well know, I have but one trueborn child. I love her, but…"

"She may not further your line," I nodded. "You wish for your bastard to hold your name?" Bryce gave a short nod. I traced my finger around the rum of my cup of wine. "Only the King may grant a decree of legitimacy…"

"And you have the King's ear," Bryce stated. "Brandon is my son. Regardless of his name, he will always be a part of my family. I just ask that my father's legacy be protected."

"My Lord, my King Brother and I are amidst a war that arose because of the very fact that my father legitimized his bastard. Who would be more suitable to rule? Your trueborn daughter, or you legitimized bastard?"

"This is not Aeron and Viserys we are discussing here," Bryce's voice was soft as he admired his children. They both had his large sky-blue eyes, both had his russet hair… it was true, Aeron looked like us, but none of us ever thought of him as a true Targaryen. He was always… he wasn't enough of a Dragon to be part of our dynasty.

"Brandon adores Mellie," Lord Bryce insisted. "He'd only ever want to protect her."

I let out a small cough, "Is that all of your requests, My Lord?"

"One more thing," Bryce drummed his fingers along the table, "I wish to have suitable matches for my children. When they come of age."

"Both of them?"

"A Targaryen's word would make all the difference in their prospects."

I nodded, "And this would be in return for…"

"I swear by the Seven that upon my honour as a Tully, I shall gather my banners and march South to join you in taking King's Landing with your brother."

I couldn't help but smile at this. With Viserys in the Vale, and myself securing an alliance with the Riverlands, we had two Kingdoms behind us. But Aeron had the Reach and the Rock – not to mention the Crownlands themselves.

I raised my cup of wine, "Then I shall avail myself of this land, and return to Dragonstone," I stood from my chair, clinking my cup into his. "On behalf of my brother, King Viserys, I accept your conditions."

 **Finn Snow – The Lusty Crone, Yunkai, Essos**

It had been a long ride to Yunkai. I'd near killed my mare on the journey, but I had no time to waste. From my year's service in the Second Sons, I knew they never stayed in one place for too long. I figured _the Lusty Crone_ was a good place to try and find the Redbear and his men.

 _The Lusty Crone_ was amongst the oldest brothels in Yunkai – full of Lyseni girls, old and young, thin and fat. Made entirely of stone, with fires burning all around. It was clear upon entering that I'd find the Redbear here; men in mismatched leathers, all of whom carried a variety of blades. And sitting by the bath in the centre of the room, was a man with two shortswords. One, a Qohorian blade with a rose pommel. The other, castle-forged steel, with a bear's head carved out of ironwood. With a boy on one side and a woman on the other, the man was larger than any other I had seen, his hair was just as red as I remembered, tied back into a single braid. His brown eyes glinted as he laughed with the boy on his left. What had changed however, was his face. Once handsome, now marred from the numerous scars he had picked up in the year since I had seen him.

"Redbear!" A voice called from across the room. The Redbear looked up from his whores to see Jaza, who nodded towards me. The Redbear's brown eyes locked onto mine, and he stood up from his chair.

"Finn bloody Snow!" His voice boomed in a familiar Northern drawl.

"Redbear," I nodded, dreading what came next. He wrapped his tree-trunk arms around me, squeezing all breath from my breast and left me wheezing, rubbing my ribs.

"Come you in, have a drink!" He shoved a bottle of purple wine in my hands, "Get you something? A girl?"

"I don't plan on staying long," I took a sip, "Gods, you've picked up a few scars along the way, haven't you?"

"Now that's funny," He held my hand, examining the black cloth that covered my palms, and gently slapped my eyebrow, where that scar still stung.

"Still consorting with Mikko?"

"Aye."

The Redbear walked back to his chair, shifting his arms around his whores. He was a good decade and a half older than me, though the scars on his face made him look a great deal older. I suppose, my own scars made me look older…

"He still all solemn and stern?" Redbear chuckled.

"No more than before…"

"Bah," Redbear took the bottle from me, "Life's too short to be a broody bastard like that!" He laughed and took a swig from his bottle. I felt my fist clench, and sat down in the chair opposite him. Redbear slowly stopped drinking, passing the bottle back to me. "Meaning no offence." I grunted in response. "So, still after that fantasy of yours? Riches and reputation?"

I took the bottle from Redbear, "That river's run dry."

"I'm sure I can help," He leant forwards as the lad beside him stroked his hair, "Return to the Second Sons, Finn! Put your ambition to better use. I'd have you as my Commander."

I laughed and shook my head, "I've not the mettle for your campaigns, Mormont."

Redbear's smile faltered, "You're think about Mereen?"

I quickly glanced down at the bottle, "We agreed never to discuss that."

"Aye… I remember," Redbear's eyes drifted down to the floor. I knew what he was thinking about – the exact same thing that I was. The bodies in the street like cobblestones, lakes of blood… the smell of the bodies burning. "So," Redbear shook his head, "what can I do for you? I take it this is no chance meeting?"

"Redbear," I handed him the bottle back, "I'm to head back across the Narrow Sea."

"To Westeros?" Redbear began snapping his fingers, "I believe there's a problem with that… something about… what was it, heads and pikes?"

"My father was killed by Raff Bolton some months back." Redbear's face fell, his brow furrowed. "Now, my brother Markas has met the same fate."

"Bennard has fallen?" Redbear rubbed his brow, "He was a good man. Not a smart one, certainly not a great one, but… a good one nonetheless." Redbear slapped the lad next to him and pointed at the shelves of drinks. "I'd heard talk of battles, but…"

"It happened some time after I left for Braavos," I informed Redbear. "Winterfell has been razed, and Alvar Bolton rules as Warden of the North."

"How did you come to learn this?"

"My sister, Evie, survived. She journeyed to Braavos to find me."

"Sounds as stubborn as her mother," Redbear took two bottles from the boy, tossing one to me. "Is the Lady Margareth…?"

"Evie watched her die."

Redbear nodded solemnly, uncorking the wine and clinking the bottle against mine. It was sad to drink for Lady Stark's memory but… she'd never been much of a mother to me. Growing up in Winterfell, I'd never known comfort from her arms, nor had I desired it. But, she was Evie's mother. Markas' mother. Little Tylan's as well.

"Where is the girl now?"

"Back in Braavos with Helesa and-"

"Helesa?" Redbear's solemn face was swept away by guffaws, "Still sweet on that strumpet, are you?"

"It's a tad more complex than that…"

"Oh, I'm sure it is," Redbear chortled as the girl began nibbling at his earlobe. "So, Evie. How'd she survive?"

"She was down South when Winterfell was attacked."

"Down South?" Redbear frowned.

"Aye. Marrying a Baratheon."

Redbear's eyes widened. "Seems the Targaryens aren't the only ones who fuck their sisters…"

"Derrick!"

"What is it about your family and Baratheons? Is it their fiery temper? The bulging muscles?" I rolled my eyes at his jibes, though I couldn't help myself from curling my lips slightly. "Come on, what does it take to lure a Stark?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Oh, less of that bloody brooding, lad," Mormont slapped my knee as he stood up, raising his bottle to his mercenaries, "A drink. In memory of House Stark." I stood up along with the rest of the commanders in the Second Sons, all of us raising our drinks. "The North Remembers."

"The North remembers," we all repeated in broken unison. We all gulped down our drinks, and Redbear seated himself again. As he did so, everyone returned to their flirtations.

"Derrick," I took a breath, drumming a finger against my bottle, "neither of use are beholden to our family's oaths, but I can't turn my back on them when they need me…"

"Well, this certainly is a step up from the Finn Snow I fought beside a year back. Tell me, what have I missed," He waved away the boy, "I heard talk the Iron Bank lost something recently," He smirked, "You wouldn't have had anything to do with that now, would you?"

I shook my head, "Far from it."

"Oh aye, I'm sure…" He leant back in his chair, "What about that dancing master, Vollys? That old crock still about?"

"Not anymore."

"Really?" He raised an eyebrow in mild surprise, "My condolences. I know he meant a fair bit to you…"

"Aye, he did. Before he betrayed me."

"Betrayed?" Redbear smiled in curiosity, "I thought you two were closer than a Septa's legs. I'm sure it's quite the tale…"

"One I'd rather not regale you with," One hand drifted to my swordhand, gently rubbing the scars that sat beneath the cloth. "Are you with me?"

"With you? With you in what?" Redbear feigned innocence.

"You want me to say it?" Redbear folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, cocking his head to the side. I let out a grunt, "I want you to bring your Second Sons with me to Westeros."

Redbear turned to the whore on his left, "He doesn't ask for much, does he?" He mumbled.

"Derrick…"

"We're sellswords, Finn. We've got good work this side of the sea."

"How long will it be before the Boltons attack Bear Island?"

"That's hardly my concern," the Redbear scoffed, "it were your father that exiled me near two decades ago. He exiled you as well…"

"Red- Derrick, the Boltons have slaughtered my family. They'll slaughter half the North before the year is out."

"Be that as it may, the law is the law. Your father exiled us…"

"This isn't about my father. You were exiled for killing one man. I was exiled for…," I shook my head, "Do you think Raff is any better than us? We've served our sentence. Don't you think it's time we went home?" I set down the bottle on the table, "I can't stay in Braavos, it's not safe for Evie. I need to take her home. I need to bury my brothers." Redbear let out a snicker. "What is it?"

"How long have you waited for an excuse to go back to Winterfell?"

I bit my lip, "From the moment I stepped off the ship."

"Why? Not for that Baratheon girl, surely…"

I rolled my eyes, "That were four years ago, Redbear. That ship has sailed."

"Unless she had a child…" Redbear raised his eyebrows and smiled at the horror on my face, "You may return to find a little dark-eyed Storm…"

"Gods, I hope not…" I smoothed back my hair.

"For a Snow, you seem awful afraid of fathering a bastard."

"I never knew my mother," I explained, "I saw Lady Margareth with Markas, with Evie… well, I wanted that." I turned to face the Redbear, "I know I said it often, but it's not easy."

Redbear nodded. "Sod it…" He stood up, swaying slightly, "Bastards and exiles are all welcome in the Second Sons. And as long as there's gold in it for them," Redbear extended an arm.

"You're sure?"

"No. But I'm drunk, which is good enough." I clasped Redbear's arm.

"I promise, you will be rewarded for this, friend."

"Aye, aye, we'll set sail for Braavos tomorrow. Now…" He slapped me on the shoulder and staggered over to the rest of his men, unsheathing an axe, "here's a game I learnt from a couple of Ironborn reavers!"

 **Lord Commander Mikal Drake – The Throne Room, The Red Keep, King's Landing, The Crownlands**

The Throne Room was empty. Rays of Moonlight shone through the window behind the Iron Throne, illuminating the dust that drifted down slowly towards the floor. I frowned, turning around to see no fireplaces lit. It was just the skulls of the dragons and the throne. Though, a silent, hooded figure did sit upon the throne.

"Your Grace?" I called out, approaching the throne. "You wished to see me?"

The silhouette looked up from the shadow and stood, walking down the steps. "Lord Commander," the figure's accent was strange because there was no accent. He wasn't Northern, Dornish, Braavosi…

"Only the King may sit upon the Iron Throne."

"Me and my brothers have a gift for you," The figure came closer. He wore a long fur-lined cloak, with a steel breastplate. A hand lay upon the hilt of a longsword. His shieldhand gestured behind me, and I turned around to see two other hooded men, dressed as he was. One of them held a large brass chest, which he placed onto the ground, bowing his head and taking several steps back.

"What's that?"

"Your present," The first man replied, "our employer insisted we not come to you empty-handed."

"Your employer?" I frowned. "Does he wish to make some sort of deal with me?"

"Of sorts," The man said, a ghost of a smile in his voice. "If you will…"

I walked towards that heavy brass chest, adorned with iron buckles and leather straps. The sort of chest one would only use when travelling from one kingdom to another. I arrived at it, pressing my hand to it and kneeling down to open it. As I came closer, there was a putrid smell, something of rot and decay and metal.

I unclasped the lock and pushed open the lid.

Inside was a grotesque treasure. Upon a mound of all manner of organs and intestines, was a pair of severed arms, hands white as bone and wrapped around a hazel lute. A small tulip breast was on either side of the lute, beside each elbow. Below, a pair of alabaster legs were parted, exposing a cunt, a pale tongue planted inside.

"We didn't take her tongue until last," the first man said, "she did have such a beautiful voice after all."

"What is this?" I examined the parts. No scars or cuts – This would have been done while the girl was alive. A butcher knows another butcher's work.

"Interest," He drew his sword, "on a debt repaid."

"A debt?" I stood there, looking at this man. I was in the same spot when Ser Edgar had been knighted. He had promised he would pay his debt to me. "Who is this?"

"We thought it would only be fitting you see all of her," He pointed his sword at me, "your pretty bastard bard."

I looked back to the body. I remembered holding those hands, those arms wrapped around mine as we strolled through Fish Monger's Square, looking into her beautiful sky-blue eyes. My gut was gripped, and I began to think about Daisy. Rocking back in forth with her in my arms. The last time that I had cried.

"You murdered her," I spoke quietly. I knew what I was going to do. I just didn't know when it would happen.

"You murdered Ser Richard Dayne," the man replied. "A debt to be repaid. Make your peace with your Gods."

I let out a scoff, "I made my peace long ago," I rose, "Was this little show supposed to scare me into submission?" I drew my axe in my shieldhand, "I'm afraid you've failed," I unsheathed my sword, "I don't feel anything anymore."

 **Oooh… was that an off-screen death? I mean… no… probably not, but you'll have to tune in next time to see!**

 **Well… most of these parts were very short, the main purpose was the Yunkai chapter. But I'm spinning plates with this story…**

 **So, next chapter is called '** _ **Justice…'**_ **and takes place in Winterfell, Castle Black and King's Landing. It'll be up next week at some point and… ah, it's not gonna be a fun chapter to write.**


	10. Justice

**Sorry for the delay in writing. Bit of a family emergency, but writing always helps!**

 **A little reminder for some of you to submit Free Folk for me. I've received none at all, which is bleh. Onwards…**

 **This chapter is… well, it goes some places that are 'M'. Once again, if anyone gets offended, please let me know – it's always tricky to handle certain matters.**

 **Haylise Baratheon – Winterfell, The North**

The stone wall was cold, pressing through my tattered blue dress and against my skin. But I felt weak. The last time I was like this, I was a child with the fever. At least then I had my bed, water and warmth. Here, there was naught but cold and despair.

I heard the cellar door next to me open, and I heard the jaunty melody that Raff would whistle as he fiddled with his keys. I scurried further into the corner and wrapped myself in the ragged blanket as I watched Raff's pale and pointed face peer past the iron grated door.

"How is the little doe-eyed deer?" He sneered as he locked the cell door next to me. I wrapped the blanket tighter around my shoulders, bringing my knees to my chest in some attempt to cover the scars across my breasts. "Not in the mood to play?" He tittered, finding the key for my door.

"Leave her, Raff," The voice in the adjoining cell rasped – a man's voice. Raff cocked his head and sauntered over to it.

"What was that, little cub?"

"Give her a moment's mercy, for pity's sake…"

Raff's smile dissipated into a thin line as he swept a hand across his shorn head before he pointed through the grate with his knife.

"You need a re-education in manners, boy," Raff snarled before storming down the corridor.

"Are you alright?" The voice next to me asked.

I nodded, "Yes… Well, no. But I will be." I walked towards the cell door. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet… He'll be back soon," he sighed. "I'm truly sorry for what has happened to you."

"I doubt you are to blame…" I sank to my knees.

"I am," The man murmured, "I didn't think. If I had just… I had just listened, Raff would not hold Winterfell."

I frowned, turning towards the wall. "If you had listened to what?" I brushed back my hair with a hand, "Who are you?"

"Markas. Of House Stark."

"Markas…" I found myself smiling. "We've met before."

"We have?"

"The tourney at Riverrun, some years ago. For Florian Hightower and his wife, Jessamine? I was with my father, Lord Rylon, and my brother Ser Baldinar."

"Lady Haylise," Markas gave a tattered chuckle, "Your brother gave me a hiding with the sword."

I chuckled at the memory of Baldinar removing his helm, the black hair rippling from beneath it as maidens applauded him. "He said you were a worthy opponent."

"No, he didn't…" Markas scoffed. I let out a laugh – the first laugh I'd laughed in Winterfell.

"No, he didn't." I tried to picture Markas. With his black curls and round face. That curved scar above his eye. "You were getting drunk outside the tent with the squires."

Markas snickered at the memory, "That was more my brother's doing." Markas gave a short gasp, "Didn't he win your favour?"

I remembered Finn standing in the ring, the poor Frey boy's teeth knocked out and two men standing between them. Finn was disqualified, though I remember him taking my black and gold favour and using it to wipe the blood off his arm.

"That was a long time ago."

"Indeed it was…" Markas coughed.

"Whatever happened to him?"

"He was exiled by my father," Markas' voice quietened, "my sister, Evie, thought he would be in Braavos."

"I met her," I informed him. "When she married Ryleigh. She looked beautiful."

"Is she still alive?"

I shook my head, remembering Evie's little face as she asked whether her family would be able to visit her. These small memories became shorter and shorter, replaced with memories of Aeron and his dragon or Raff and his knife. "I don't know."

"No…" Markas lamented, "no, of course not."

"If I should die in here…" I spoke slowly as whistle echoed through the dungeon, "and you do not, promise me something."

"What?"

"Promise me you'll kill Aeron."

"The King?"

"He's no King of mine," I muttered.

"I swear," Markas whispered.

"And if I should live, do you have-" I was cut off by the loud tutting of a silhouette that approached us.

"Maybe I should remove your tongues," Raff emerged into the firelight, "then, you may learn not to talk to strangers."

Raff removing a large hunting knife, gleaming in the firelight. "Now, little cub… should I take your ear? Or something more… personal?" He wrenched open the cell door, and I heard nothing but screams ensue.

 **Ser Edgar Sand – The Red Keep, King's Landing, The Crownlands**

I couldn't stop smiling. Still basking in the joy of knowing my brother's killer had been avenged properly. I was no Dayne, but I was a Sand of Dorne, and our justice was a thing to be feared. Just as the Martells were unbowed, unbent, unbroken, so was my resolve.

I approached the door to the Throne Room. No doubt, Aeron would suspect me. But, Lucian Lannister would return soon and vindicate me. Regardless, I had no reason to panic. I smoothed back my hair, wondering how to celebrate. A boy, a girl and a bottle of Dornish Red.

I walked into the throne room, beaming as the sunlight dazzled through the stained glass of Aegon the Conqueror behind the throne.

My smile faded.

Standing beside King Aeron was a man. His helm beneath one arm and his gauntlets caked in blood. His white cloak was tattered, his breastplate cracked. He looked like a dead man, or something worse; a demon.

"Ser Edgar," King Aeron rose from his throne, "you seem surprised. Is anything the matter?"

"The Lord Commander is covered in blood," I quickly muttered, "was there another attempt on your life?"

"Not his," Lord Mikal walked down the steps, his hand clenched into a fist inside his gauntlet.

"Lord Mikal?"

He drew his longsword with his left hand and his axe with his right, and took a swipe for my head. I fell backwards, quickly regaining my footing as I called out to Aeron, "Your Grace, stop this madness!"

"This is a matter for the Kingsguard, not the King," Aeron replied, "I shall allow the better knight to prevail."

I spun around Mikal's lunge, drawing my greatsword and swinging it at his back. If Ser Mikal had taken the time to change his armour, the blow may not have hurt him. But, his breastplate was already cracked. The blade snapped his armour in two, and a spurt of blood came from his shoulder.

I assumed a high-guard, taking a step backwards.

"You murdered Cara," Mikal growled. "I'll have my justice."

"I thought the Kingsguard were forbidden from taking wives. Or shall you confess to oathbreaking now?"

Mikal let out a snarl and dashed forwards, his blows sweeping for neck, an endless barrage of flurries. I knew men like Mikal. A brute without a single thought in his head. I kept my distance, letting him tire himself. It wouldn't take long from his wounds.

I took my opening and thrust my sword forwards. It glanced off to the right, slicing against his cheekbone, next to the large scar that carved its way across his face – a souvenir from my brother.

"I'll have your head, boy-fucker…" Mikal growled.

"I'll have your title, My Lord."

He roared, lunging forwards with his sword. I stepped out of the way and brought Dawn down on his blade with all my might. His blade snapped in two like a twig. I kicked him against the stone pillar and plunged Dawn deep into the side of his belly, feeling the blade crack the stone behind him.

"This is far better," I hissed into Mikal's ear, "this is how it should have always ended." Mikal glared at me, looking down at Dawn with disbelief. "This is for my brother…"

Mikal's hand released the hilt of his broken sword. Instead, it gripped my wrist and kept Dawn inside his gut as he raised his axe and brought it down into my shoulder.

The pain was intolerable. I felt my collar snap and the axe cleave flesh and sinew. The cold steel struck again, further into my shoulder. Mikal kept my hand against Dawn as he proceeded to strike at me again and again and again.

 **Julian – Castle Black, The Wall, The North**

I ducked beneath the blow and tried to lunge, only to have Will's large forearm barge into my chest, knocking me to the ground. I hit it hard, feeling the back of my head start to freeze from the cold dirt.

"Maybe you should've spent less time forging swords, and more time using them." Will offered me a hand, which I took.

"Not all of us were trained by a Master-at-Arms," I rubbed the back of my head.

"Oh, is that peasant's sorrow I can hear in your voice?"

I shoved Will, "You've been a ranger for, what, ten years? I've barely been here ten days…"

"You're right, I should go easy on you," Will nodded, "after all, you tell a Wildling you're a fresh crow and they'll put one hand behind their back."

"Sod off…"

"Nice to see you're both getting on well." Kenn Stark approached us.

"He'll get more of the same until he gets Wildling blood on his sword," Will nudged me again.

"Well, he won't have to wait long," Kenn looked to me, "I've your first mission. You're to go with Wyllis here and scout Beyond the Wall. We've heard reports from Rangers that there's been gatherings."

"Gatherings?" I frowned.

"It's probably just some Wildlings scared of Thenns."

"Thenns?"

"The worst type of Wildlings," Will explained to me, "what do we mind if they kill each other?"

"Watchers on the Wall, lad," Kenn raised an eyebrow. "Fetch your gear and ready the horses – I want you out within the next two hours."

"Yes, Ser."

Will rubbed his jaw, "That man's a prick at times…"

"I'm rather fond of him," I wiped the sweat from my brow.

"You'll learn. Give it a year or two…"

 **Ilyana Bolton – Winterfell, The North**

Winterfell. A truly despicable place made all the more damning by Alvar's demon-spawn. I should have ended up in a place like this, married to an honourable Lord. But instead, the Gods played their cruel games with me, wedding me to a liar like Alvar, who feigns a lordly manner all while plotting my demise.

Then there was wretched Alvar's doubly-wretched son. A creature of rage and violence. Not unlike his demented sister, either. None of them could see what I could see.

I felt the world around me begin to pull away from me, as if I was falling into some deep slumber. And out of the blackness, I saw the sea. Rippling waves and torrential storms ahead, with no sight of land.

I could feel my powerful wings beating heavily in the air as I soared lower towards the tide. What was at first a speck in the distance quickly became a large carrack ship with orange-striped sails. A wolf lay upon the deck, its heart torn out beside it's grizzled chops.

I continued to soar, back towards land. As I came closer, growling pleasurably at the feel of the air on my scales, I came to the North. I swept over the grass hills, seeing Winterfell in the distance. But, outside, rabid packs of wolves and bears and lizards thundered towards the castle walls, howling and roaring.

I roared with them as I sailed over them, letting out bellows of fire on the fields below me. But, I kept flying north. Something was summoning me. Or, rather, not me. I didn't have wings anymore. I moved faster than any creature above land. I raced across the skies, passing thousands of crowds upon the Wall. Eventually, I was in a forest, creeping inside a cave as I reached out a man's hand. It found its way to an ice horn, as big as a shield and just as heavy. It was beautiful, though it was also angry. An ancient relic.

As my hairy male fingers pressed against it, I saw an eye. A brilliantly blue eye snapped open, it's thin pupil like a tower or sword, sharp and ready for war.

"My Lady?" I felt the hand on my shoulder. My woman's shoulder. I turned around to grab the wrist, digging my nails in as I hissed. The Whitehill bitch.

"What have you done to me?" I barked at the girl, raising my cane and striking her face. She fell backwards, and it felt good. Watching her squirm on the floor, scrambling to get away. I stepped on her dress and struck her once again with my cane.

She was against me. They all were! A hundred enemies in my own home. They all deserved a far worse fate. This was me protecting myself – sooner or later, they'd all try to murder me. My family betrayed me, my children did from the moment they clawed their way out from between my legs.

This Whitehill girl had assisted my daughter in her escapades. Despicable and full of sin. No longer would I be subjected to this in my own home. Not until my cane was snapped in two.

 **Ashriel Tyrell – The Red Keep, King's Landing**

I was awoken from my sleep by a humming tune. A song I had once known in my youth as a girl. The voice was soft and perfect, climbing and falling octaves that would've soothed any man or woman's soul.

I crawled towards the gate, peering through the iron bars to see firelight dancing closer down the chambers of the Black Cells. The voice became clearer as well. Holding the torch was a woman. Pale like some sort of spectre, the woman's tulip-shaped lips held a soft smile as her light grey eyes fell upon me.

"Lady Ashriel?" The young woman produced a small ringlet of keys from within her cloak, her slender fingers caressing the cast iron of each one.

"I am."

"I thought as much." The beautiful woman gave me a warm smile. "You look like your sister."

"You know my sister?"

"Well, she is the Queen." The woman tugged at the iron gate, wrenching it open.

"Aeron's guards will stop you," I assured her. "No-one's ever escaped the Black Cells before."

"Escape?" The woman's brow clenched tight as she frowned fondly upon me. "My dear, I'm not going to help you escape." She grabbed a fistful of the red cotton on her dress and pulled it high, revealing her snow-white skin and the small auburn sheathe around her thigh, a small knife cradled inside.

My eyes grew wide. Another one of Aeron's ploys! I scurried back to the corner of my cell, eyes dashing around for something to use to defend myself. But, before I could even adjust to the darkness in the corner of my cell, the firelight of the woman followed me, and the knife appeared at my throat. The torch dropped to the ground and I felt the knife bite against my skin as she continued humming gently, guiding my hands into the shackles in the walls.

"You're not the first pet that I've had, My Lady," She informed me. "He was much like you. A wretched little thing…"

The woman picked up the torch and shoved it the iron sconce beside me. She raised her knife and held the tip of it in the flame, turning it over with the fascination a cat gives a wounded robin redbreast.

"I don't know what Aeron wants from me…"

"Hush, child." The woman turned back towards me, holding the orange tip of her knife close to my skin, "I don't want to hear your whimpers. Just your screams."

And with that, the woman held my face still and carved the knife into my cheek. The searing pain, the steam of my blood, my eyes watering and tears streaming down my face as the smell of burnt meat entangled inside my nostrils. None of this was as painful as the moment I had realized she was not here to help me.

It felt like hours, though it could not have been so. Not that small part of her fun. She reached a hand forwards and pressed her lips against mine. They were plump and ample, her entire body crushed against mine, her hips pushing against my mired dress as her ashen hands dug into my hair. She then reached for her knife, cutting my dress open.

"I had hoped Aeron had been rough with you," She said, her eyes roving over my skin. "No matter," She began to unlace her bodice, pulling down her dress until her body mirrored my own. "It has been so dull up there…" she groaned, running a hand over my breasts. No fire inside her, no passion. Just those empty eyes searching for something upon me. "I'd sooner stay down here with the rats and the scoundrels. All the ugly people that make up the world as we know it." She moved her hand down between my legs, her fingers dancing around me. "Ugly to everyone but me." She smiled as her fingers slid inside me. At the same moment, her knife was once again upon me, carving it's way into my breast, her eyes focusing upon my face with great anticipation, observing every move and sound that I made.

"Why in Seven Hells are you doing this to me?"

The woman opened her mouth, but then her mouth closed, carving into a grotesque smirk that cracked along her face as her fingers went deeper, and her knife became harsher.

I tried to find some solace in my thoughts. Imagining those moments stolen away with Viserys. When it had been his seventeenth nameday, I had to wait until the early hours of the morning until seeing him. That had been our first night together.

The woman's hot breath upon my ear brought me back to the present.

"You will learn this pain." Her knife needled into my breast once more.

I thought of when I first met Viserys. Young and bold as he was, sixteen years old. Prowling the courtyard with Ser Baldinar Baratheon of the Kingsguard. Before Viserys had acquired his scar, he often relished swordplay. I had watched from Laena's chambers when I saw him squire in his shirt and breeches, ducking and rolling under the looming Ser Baldinar as the Lord Hand, Lord Rylon, watched on. The sun shined so much brighter back then, despite being winter. All my memories of Viserys were of that hot, burning sun…

I was pulled back to the Cell with a smack as the woman's knife pressed against my nose. "You will remain here. You will feel what I do to you." She leant in closer, her voice softening as the knife withdrew. "Your beloved Viserys. Your King Aeron. The only way men can rule is by the promise of pain they can inflict upon others." Her finger swept away my tears, "In embracing pain, you disarm everyone around you."

"You're doing this to help me?"

"No," She shook her head, "but I have known many girls like you. I've perfected my persuasions in having them attend on me. Just as you shall do so."

 **So the Ashriel / Thea bit went from 300 words to over a thousand because… well, God, I really love this story.**

 **So, MAJOR UPDATE, I'm off uni for a couple of weeks and I've purposely left my PS4 in my halls so I can work on this story. With only 20 more chapters to go, I'm gonna try and make up for lost time.**

 **So, once again, review. Submit a Wildling as I really need some. Tell me about the whole Ser Mikal vs. Ser Edgar, Theadosia's torture of Ashriel, Ilyana's delusion/vision and some Markas / Haylise interaction.**

 **Chapter 11 will be called '** _ **The Bastard and His Whore**_ **', set exclusively in Braavos, and I'm happy to say to someone (I think it was** _ **ShinAlter**_ **, one of my favourite readers/reviewers/submitters) that this will be the last Braavos chapter I write. For this series, anyway.**


	11. The Bastard and His Whore

**So, a late update. Oh well, hopefully you guys enjoy it! Remember to submit some of those Wildlings – I need a couple by chapter 13, so quick as you like.**

 **A belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to everyone! Guess what? It's actually my 24** **th** **Birthday tomorrow… yeah, that's scary…**

 **Anyhoo, here is the last chapter in Braavos. Just wanted to thank everyone for sticking with me through this. I know there are some people who kinda flaked as soon as I stopped the daily updates, but it helps to know some of ya are still sticking around.**

 **Finn Snow – The Roof of** _ **the Princess**_ **, The Drowned Town, Braavos**

I couldn't remember the last time I'd laughed that much. Derrick Redbear had a way of making everyone around him forget their troubles. It didn't take more than a drop of rum before he started reminding us of when Mikko didn't know a word of the common tongue.

"He…" Ser Derrick laughed, "he kept pointing at the body and grunting in Dothraki!"

"I remember," I turned to Mikko, "what were you trying to say?"

"I was asking why he tried to hit me." Mikko mumbled, going a little red.

"We all thought you were 'bout to eat him!" Ser Derrick slapped Mikko on the shoulder. The chuckles died down as we began to think back to the days Mikko and I served in the Second Sons. "What happened after that…"

"Mereen," Mikko said quietly.

Derrick's face shifted into stone as he nodded, licking his lips as they broke their smile into a slow frown. "Aye…" He took a gulp. "Poor sods."

I stood up, walking to the edge of the rooftop and looking out across Braavos. In the distance, I could see the fat-bellied carrack waiting. The windows illuminated and the sails furled. The Second Sons were stowed away in there – all five hundred of them. It wasn't much of an army, but Cerwyn had assured me that House Mormont held the better half of a thousand men, if the Boltons hadn't broken them yet. With Cerwyn's forces, that put us a little under two thousand.

House Karstark would join us, I was sure of it. For what little that was worth. A hundred men, most likely, if the war had been as constant as Cerwyn and Evie had told me. I felt bad for not telling Mikko to stay. I knew he wouldn't listen to me – our paths were one and the same, but it was selfish to let him fight another war. Especially one on the other side of the known world.

"You ever stopped to count?"

I turned to face Derrick. "Count what?"

"How many we killed in Mereen?"

"Of course I did…" I turned back to face the horizon.

"No, I mean the three of us." Derrick took a swig from the rum, passing it to Mikko, "I myself killed three hundred and fifty…two…no, fifty-three." I raised an inquisitive eyebrow, "Twins," Derrick shrugged.

"One hundred and… something. Seventy?"

Derrick let out a whistle, "Lost your sword for half the battle, didn't you?" Mikko nodded in response. "Your turn, Snow. How many men did you kill?"

"Two hundred-odd. Give or take."

"I'm sure it was more than that…" Mikko frowned, offering me the bottle. I took it from his hand.

"Not the men." I took a large gulp, trying to forget the bodies that we stacked in the labyrinth of the streets, blocking the routes and penning in the insurrection. The collars and chains littered the street with body parts and crudely fashioned weapons that would snap beneath ours. I remembered receiving my purse, my bloodied hands soaking the cotton fabric that held my share of the Slavemasters' jewels.

"I think we're in need of more rum," Ser Derrick handed the empty bottle to Mikko.

"Me?"

"I'm already supplying an army, you'd have me get the drink as well?"

Mikko let out a small chuckle as he took the bottle and began a wobbling walk down the small wooden hatch and into _the Princess_ below us. I leant against the wooden railing that had been hammered into the blushed tiles of the domed roof, looking out amongst the rest of the Drowned Town. It was darker than usual, with a heavy fog rolling through the town.

"I still get the dreams sometimes," Ser Derrick said quietly, rubbing a thumb against his crystal cup, "about Mereen." He took a heavy breath and pushed himself off the ground. "You know?"

I knew all too well what he was talking about. Slipping into the endless tides of blood, the elephants from Astapor raging through the city walls to crush the insurrection, killing Second Sons as well as slaves.

"No," I shook my head, "I can't remember it at all…" I turned around to face Derrick, but I found myself looking at something beside him. It was miniscule – barely bigger than my hand. A small winged creature, it's scales white freckled like snowdrops. Eyes all dark and strange like rubies. It let out small, weak squawks as Derrick turned to face it.

"Seven Hells, Snow… tell me you see this too," He hissed to me.

"I see it," I assured him, taking several steps towards it, and stretching out a hand. It was amazing – beautiful. Like nothing that existed in this world. I'd heard the tales of the Targaryen dragons, but to truly see a wild dragon… it was beyond words. The dragonling stretched out it's ashen wings, the scales tinged like black ash around the horns. It let out a hiss, glaring its red eyes at my fingertips.

"Snow, I wouldn't do that…"

"Redbear, it's tiny."

"It's a dragon."

I rolled my eyes and stretched out a hand further, and gently laid it in front of the dragonling. It leant its white snout downwards, sniffing my hand before placing a small talon on it, craning its long neck to glance at Derrick. I smiled as the dragonling stepped on my palm fully, wrapping a horned tail around my wrist as I moved it closer to my face.

"Snow…"

"It's alright," I couldn't take my eyes off the small creature that began sniffing me intensely. "It's not going to hurt me." The dragonling let out some soft squawks as it moved its growing talons up my forearm. It pinched, but I knew the dragonling couldn't have meant it.

In a flash, the talons clenched into my arm and the head jerked to the direction of the Long Canal. The dragonling screeched and soared away from me. I took a few steps towards the railing, leaning over it and seeing that there was no fog. There was smoke. I could hear the marches and shouting, and the unmistakable light of fires.

"What in all the Gods of Fire and Fuck…?"

 **Helesa Irinos –** _ **The Princess**_ **, The Drowned Town, Braavos**

"What is it like?" I placed a glass of rum in front of a tentative Evie, "Back in the North?"

Evie took a sip of the spiced rum and cocked her head to the side. "Damp. Cold… big. Everyone fights everyone and they don't like outsiders."

I nodded, "Yet you will go back."

"Home never stops being home."

I nodded. After my mother had died when I was young, I couldn't bring myself to leave Braavos. I suppose this was for the same reason Evie now sought to return home.

"I shall miss you, Evie Stark," I raised my glass, "a woman who seeks reclaim her brother's throne…"

"It's not a throne," Evie replied, "It's- it used to be a throne but… now it's different."

I nodded, "If you say so."

Evie frowned, "Aren't you coming with us?"

I let out a small chuckle, "And why, dear girl, would I do that?"

"Well, you're Finn's… friend."

"Friend?" I raised an eyebrow as I finished my rum. "It was never easy with him. Men are complicated, as are women. But a man like Finn and a woman like myself…" She smiled, "A Bravo and a Courtesan. Such things cannot last."

Before Evie could say another word, the domed roof that we drank inside exploded. Cascades of rock crumbled past us with surges of fire and smoke. Teeming shouts and cries sounded outside.

"Stay here," I cried to Evie as I ran towards the hole in the wall. I looked out and, through the white smoke, saw crowds of men in heavy brass armour and light blue robes beneath them; Guards of the Iron Bank. Long halberds and hefty tall shields. They walked down the narrow walkway – the only water shallow enough to wade through.

I turned back to Evie, "Find Finn-" A hand grabbed my throat, as a helmed man pushed me further inside, a sword in his other hand.

" _Skoriot iksis īlva drōmon_?" The man growled behind his helm. Another soldier entered through the breach, tipping over the table to grab Evie, who attempted to wrestle the man away. I swept my hand under my dress and removed my dagger, sticking it through the visor of my captor's helm. He let out a shriek and collapsed backwards. I ran towards the other man, who thrust his shield into my chest, knocking me to the ground. He let out a tin chortle and brought his shield down upon my leg with a crack.

" _M'ach_!" The harsh grunting noise of Dothraki came from above. As my assailant looked up with Evie and I, a hulking silhouette swept down from the shadows of the stairs, an arakh in one hand as he brought it down, cleaving the man's head in two. Mikko looked up to the next figure through the hole, and bounded forwards, kicking his shield with such force that the soldier fell back through the breach.

" _Lēkia_!" Mikko bawled as he took a knife from his belt and threw it at the next man. I looked back to the stairs, where Finn and his sellsword companion stood. Finn vaulted over the railing, rushing to Evie and picking her up.

"Get her to the ship," Finn instructed him, "tell them to get ready to cast off…" Finn's eyes fell on me and my leg. He scrambled towards me, a hands sweeping behind my head. And through the hazes of pain, I saw his shaking hand reach out towards my leg, but not actually touch it. "You're alright…" He muttered, looking around to the onslaught of men coming towards Mikko. "Mikko!"

"Get them on the ship!" Mikko shouted, slicing a man's swordarm off.

"Mikko…"

" _Valar morghulis, lēkia_!"

Finn nodded and wrapped my arm around his neck, holding my waist and dragged me. I cried out and cursed from the pain in my leg, and Finn pulled on my arm. "Put your weight on me…"

We walked out of the back, where a small, rotting dinghy bobbed. He dropped me inside, looking around to make sure no-one was following us. "We," I coughed, "we have to wait for Mikko…"

"He can look after himself," Finn assured me, hopping into the dinghy and pushing off from the building, rowing us towards the purple harbour. "Helesa?" I heard his voice echo as my vision began to darken. "Helesa!"

I felt a sharp sting on my cheek, making my eyes snap open. Finn stood there, rubbing a red hand. " _Vaoreznuni_." Finn grabbed my arm and pulled me up, stepping onto the pierhead with me. The carrack sat ready, with only a handful of the city watch there. Derrick the Sellsword was standing aboard with a number of his men, all firing volleys of arrows upon them.

"It hurts…" I grabbed my leg, hissing out my breath so I would not cry.

"Just a bit further."

"I need to rest. My leg…"

"I'm not leaving you, damn it!" He swept an arm under my leg and lifted me up, carrying me down the dock. I looked down at my leg, the bone peeking out from under the skin, the dark blood coating my shins.

"I'm not getting on that ship, Finn Snow," I stated.

"Shut up, I ain't leaving you," Finn huffed as he walked further down the wooden dock, "not a chance… not a bloody chance…"

"Please, Finn." I reached a hand up to hold his sharp cheek, sodden with sweat. I searched his dark eyes. "Please."

Finn nodded and set me down against a trio of fish barrels.

"Finn," Derrick's voice bawled from the ship, "we have to cast off…"

"A moment!" Finn shouted back.

"Don't you tarry on my behalf," I let my eyes close again. "Go."

"Don't be daft." Finn glanced down the dock. "We just need to get you on the ship…" Finn clenched his jaw. "Don't be such a pain in the arse, we'll miss the ship if you keep this up!" Finn tried to chuckle. I thought back to his heist, to his time serving the Sealord of Braavos… every attempt we'd made for more gold. All that time we'd never realized we'd had together.

"We never should have strived for riches," I smiled, "we could have been happy."

"We will," Finn nodded, "If you come with me, we will." My eyelids became too heavy. Far too heavy. "Helesa!"

"I would've come with you, Finn Snow." I let out in a groggy murmur. "I would."

 **Finn Snow – The Purple Harbour, Braavos**

I wasn't going to leave her. Not a damned chance. I grabbed her arm and wrapped it around my neck, dipping my arms beneath her and pulling her up. She gave a slight frown as I did so. She was still there.

I heard shouts in Valyrian behind me. The damned guards. I mustered what little energy I had left and ran up the gangplank and onto the deck. The Second Sons loosed another volley of arrows as the ship's crew began bustling about to disembark.

"Weigh anchor!" Ser Derrick shouted.

I looked up to find no-one was working the anchor wheel. I ran over and grabbed one of the spokes, pushing all my weight against it with a groan. The Second Sons kept on launching volleys, a few of them tugging down the main sails. I tried to dig the pads of my feet into the deck and lean against the spoke, when it suddenly began to turn slightly more slickly. I looked to my side and saw Evie there, her head barely above the spoke as she let out a grunt, tripping over her dress and she began to weigh anchor with me.

The archers parted and a blood-covered Mikko came aboard, looking about.

" _Lēkia_!" I called over to him. He crossed the deck and grabbed another spoke, pushing harder than Evie and I could have. I turned to Derrick. "Anchor aweigh!"

Derrick nodded, running to the helmsman who spun the steering gear. We were under way, leaving Braavos with the flaming arrows plunging into our hull until we were far enough away.

I looked back to Helesa, who began to open her eyes again, looking around at the masses of men. But as I walked towards her, Derrick called out to me.

"Snow, what about the Arsenal?"

I looked towards the red citedal on a lone island. That and the Titan of Braavos were the only things standing in our way. The Arsenal was a fortress equipped with trebuchets, scorpions and spitfires. Its very purpose was to protect Braavos from an attack from the sea. There was no way past it that was safe from fire.

"We've got no choice."

Ser Derrick nodded. "Archers-"

"No!" I shouted up to him, "We can't fight them! Our best chance is to sail past as quick as we can."

"You'd have my men cower behind their shields?"

"This isn't the war we're fighting, Redbear."

Ser Derrick licked his lips, looking towards the Arsenal before nodding. "Donnano! Lazos! Vario! Loose all sails!"

I turned around to see a man in front of me impaled with a yard-long iron-headed shaft that launched him overboard. "Scorpions!" I shouted, falling to the deck and grabbing onto a line to stay aboard.

At the forecastle of the ship, I saw Mikko holding Evie in the corner, a line wrapped around his hand. Another shaft soared past me, and I ran forwards, ducking behind the mast as another sailor fell to the deck, his skull splitting open on the wood. I held out a hand for Evie, trying to shout over the other men on the ship.

A flaming bronze ball was flung across the rear of the ship, missing our sails and splashing into the sea in a cloud of steam. At the helm, stood Ser Derrick, helping the helmsman steer us towards the Titan of Braavos.

I held onto the railing as my legs were lifted up into the air with the rocking of the ship. I fell up the stairs and next to the helm, helped up by Ser Derrick.

"How are we getting past that?" I asked Ser Derrick, pointing at the stone and bronze Titan.

"We'll have to brace," Ser Derrick shouted back to me.

"What about the ship?"

"As long as it still floats, that's what matters!" He replied. I nodded, and made my way down the stairs to find Helesa, who was leaning against the mast, covered in blood and water. I knelt down and wiped the blood from her face. I watched the man raise their shields as we came closer to the Titan. I swept up Helesa and ran towards the captain's cabin, slipping and falling onto the stairs with her.

Flaming rocks tumbled off shields and fell onto the deck or the sea beside us. Arrows clanged against the metal shields or sliced through the sails. We had almost passed beneath the Titan fully when a stream of fire tumbled down, collapsing on men who dived overboard with screams of terror. I'd heard myths of the Titan's wrath – the burning pitch that fell upon his foes but had never witnessed it.

And then, the arrows seemed to fade away. All that we could hear was the thundering roar of the Titan, cursing us in our battered and burning ship as we sailed away from Braavos.

I looked down to Helesa in my hands, seeing her look up past me, gazing into the stars above.

"This will make such a song…" She croaked.

"Don't you talk like that-"

"Don't cry, Finn Snow," She nestled into my arms, "the hero never cries in the songs." She almost looked like she was going to sleep. "The Bastard and His Whore…" she smiled.

And then she just… stopped.

I held the shell of her body close to me, my arms wound around her as if I was struggling to keep that last breath of hers with me. I kept looking into those violet eyes, hoping I could find one part of her in there.

But I could not.

 **Well… that's the chapter. Goodbye Braavos. I kinda wanted to write more, but I decided to only write what was necessary for the chapter. Anyhoo… read and review, lemme know what you think.**

 **The next chapter is called '** _ **Vengeance**_ **' and is set in King's Landing and Dorne. The upload won't be for a week or so because… well, coursework. But, enjoy this chapter and stay tuned for more!**

 **P.S. Some Wildlings please!**


	12. Vengeance

**Apologies for the lengthy delays. But, it should be relatively more frequent after the next two months. Anyway, here's another chapter – '…Vengeance'**

 **Taenara Faenis – Blackwater Rush, King's Landing, The Crownlands**

I'd never seen anything like it before.

Long red spires arced up towards the sky, taller than the Titan of Braavos. It was as though someone had plucked the palace from within a God's head. Beautiful scarlet stones glistened in the sunlight, as if the castle was on fire.

"I remember the first time I saw it," Lucian stood beside me. "Aegon was of Valyria. It was nothing the Westerosi had seen before… his marriage customs, his dragons – even his castles."

"Aegon… my ancestor?"

Lucian gave a stiff nod, glancing his eyes at the sailors that bustled around the deck. "It'd be wise for you to not trust anyone else with this information," Lucian murmured, "Targaryens are in danger these days – even bastards." I nodded. "I'll introduce you as my bastard daughter."

"Do I need to… lie about anything?"

"Well…" Lucian leant against a crate, "Don't mention your name. Or your mother. You'll…" Lucian frowned, looking at me, "Lyanna. That's a fine name, don't you think?"

"Lyanna?" I frowned. It sounded so… Westerosi.

"I think it's an excellent name. Second to none!" Lucian swept back his hair.

"So Laena… can't I tell her, at least? If she is to truly be my sister?"

"Lyanna, Laena is terrified of Aeron. She razed a keep on his word. She may loathe the man, but I doubt she'd ever stand against him. Just…" Lucian sighed, "stay safe. When the time comes, we can place you upon the throne."

Lucian turned around to see a series of men standing on the bay. A large banner flapped in the sky, black with a red three-headed dragon upon it. Lucian began to point at several of the finely-garbed nobles that awaited us.

"That woman, with the white hair? That's the Princess, Laena Targaryen."

"That's-?"

"Yes, the _Princess_ ," Lucian raised an eyebrow at me. "That man with the cane is Lord Oroville Tyrell." He gestured towards the grumbling man that stood close to a beautiful woman, who could have only been a handful of years older than myself.

We disembarked from the ship, and Lucian led me forwards by the hand.

"Your Grace," Lucian swept down onto one knee as he approached the woman. I quickly followed suit and heard a few chuckles.

"Lucian, thank the Seven you've returned," the beautiful woman walked forwards and embraced Lucian.

"Are you well, Your Grace? Our young Prince is not causing you discomfort?" He gave a warm smile and spoke with pure joy. The sheer mastery that he had over his words… it was the same level of skill Belos had had with a sword.

"How do you know he's a Prince?"

"Our King is fairly certain, and I've never known him to be wrong before."

The woman I now knew to be the Queen nodded, "Aeron's a sharp mind, it is true…" She turned her golden eyes over me. "And who is this?"

"My Queen Delyth, My Lords and Ladies, allow me to present my natural daughter, Lyanna." Some hushed whispers were spoken. I frowned, looking to Lucian.

"A natural daughter. I never…"

"I did not know either, Your Grace. But I received a letter from the girl's mother recently. She was in poor health and bid me travel to raise the girl."

"Raise her?" The woman Lucian had named as my sister, Laena, raised an eyebrow. I noticed her violet eyes, her white hair like mine… but the most noticeable thing was the blistered and pink webs of skin that were spun from behind the collar of her dress and up across the side of her face.

"In time, I shall return her to Casterly Rock, but I'd prefer to spend more time with her here in King's Landing, if that is not an imposition…"

"Of course not, Lucian!" Delyth laughed, and leant down to speak to my face. "Lyanna, your father is a very good friend of my husband and me." She reached a hand out towards me and, with a look to Lucian, I took it. Delyth turned around and began to walk beside me towards the gate. "I think we're going to be great friends, don't you, Lyanna?" I nodded in response. "She looks Valyrian, Lucian."

"She's takes after her mother."

"Well, when I have a daughter, I hope she will be at least half as beautiful as you, Lyanna."

I clasped Delyth's hand more. She was nice and warm – I hadn't experienced such a welcome from a stranger since… well, since I had met Belos for the first time. When he whisked me off the streets in the Drowned Town.

"Where is the King?" Lucian asked Delyth.

"He's with Ser Mikal."

"Ser Mikal?"

"Oh- Lucian, you've not been told… while you were away, Ser Mikal… he attacked Ser Edgar."

Lucian nodded, his mouth agape, "Ser Edgar? Why would he do such a thing?"

"From what Aeron has told me, Ser Mikal claimed Ser Edgar killed someone close to him."

"Who? Why would Ser Edgar…" Lucian nodded, "Ser Richard. Of course."

"That seems to be the case. Ser Mikal has survived – barely."

"And Ser Edgar? Do we have him in a cell?"

"No… Ser Mikal killed him in the throne room."

Lucian nodded. "I'm sorry I was not here…"

"Lucian, at least you've brought back a new friend for me," Delyth smiled and looked towards me.

"Actually, Your Grace, I was hoping that I could give Lyanna a position here? Perhaps a handmaiden?"

"That's a fine idea, Lucian. I'd be happy to have her as one of my own."

"Many thanks, Your Grace."

"Come, Lyanna. We'll find you something to wear."

 **Vorian Dayne – Desert Dogs encampment, The Prince's Pass, Dorne / The Reach**

Most soldiers would've been disheartened by the years they'd spent under constant attack at the Red Mountains. Some may have even deserted, but not mine. The Desert Dogs were carved from stone into true warriors. It was oft said that they were all descendants of Nymeria. I didn't believe it, but whatever helped raised the morale of my men.

The truth was that most of my men were bastards, runaways and orphans. The people that the war was hardest on. But in my company, they were revered as gods. The Desert Dogs… hungry as hounds and just as obedient.

"Hura!" I called to one of my Captains, "Why aren't the barricades repaired?"

"The men are still recovering from the Reachmen's assault…"

"They can sleep when they're dead. Mend the barricades and then you can kiss them goodnight."

"Yes, Commander."

I walked towards the barrel of water, dipping the brass ladel in and sipping, feeling the cool water run over my parched throat. I looked up as one of my soldiers approached me. A young, scrawny boy who held a spyglass – a scout.

"Report." I drank more.

"Commander, a messenger from the Reach asked for you."

I smacked my lips. "Hura! We need more water."

"Yes, Commander!" Hura shouted back.

"Is he dead?" I looked back to the scout.

"Commander?"

"The messenger? Did you kill him?"

"No, Commander… he rode under a white flag…"

I shook my head at his naiveite. "Where is he?"

"We've placed him inside your tent." I dropped the ladel back into the barrel and turned to face the messenger, who quickly held a hand out, "blindfolded and under guard, without arms."

I nodded, "What's your name, boy?"

"Zane."

"You're not entirely incompetent, Zane." I slapped him on the shoulder and strode across the camp towards my tent. Inside was one of my Captains, Dunstan. In the chair was a tall, well-built boy. Pale, as most of the Westerosi were, with light sand-coloured skin. I gave Dunstan a nod and allowed him to remove the blindfold.

"You bring terms of surrender?" I dipped my hands into the bowl of water, washing off the sand that had congealed with blood.

"No, My Lord."

"Prince," Dunstan growled at him.

"Allow the Reachman his views," I waved a hand, "it's not possible for a slave to comprehend a free man."

"You are not free, Ser. You serve a monarch, as do we."

"I serve Dorne. I fight out of choice, not on the orders of a man I've never met."

The boy licked his lips and looked away from me, "I did not come here to debate philosophy with you."

"Then speak, boy, and we may resume our slaughter."

The boy rose from his chair, "I bring news from King's Landing. Concerning your brother."

I stopped washing my hands. No news from the enemy's lips was good news. And concerning Edgar? A man surrounded by men and women who wanted him dead?

"Speak."

"It is with great pain that I must inform you that your brother, Ser Edgar Sand of the Kingsguard, Sword of the Morning, Friend and Advisor to-"

"I know who my brother is."

"… Ser Edgar Sand was killed by Ser Mikal Drake in single combat."

I picked up the cloth from the side of the bowl, wiping down my hands. Richard, dead, now Edgar. I'd sent him to his death… I could've sent my armies, but I let him persuade me. Edgar… a fucking fool he had been, and me doubly as so for agreeing with him.

"My apologies, Ser…" The boy cast his eyes to the ground.

"Thank you for bringing this news to me," I looked at him. Dunstan's hand gently clasped the hilt of his dagger. He knew what I wanted to do. "You're a brave man. Walking into this tent, knowing it could well mean your death… Why did you?"

"I… Well, I had orders Ser."

"You're a good soldier…" I smiled, "Allow me to reward your bravery with something." I held up a hand to Dunstan. "Your life." The messenger turned around to see Dunstan's hand still on his dagger. "But I expect you to return a message to your Commander."

"Yes, Ser."

"Tell him that, come morning, I will launch an assault so powerful it will cripple his meagre troops. Give no mercy and expect none neither. For I will slaughter every man, woman and child that stands between Aeron and I."

"I…"

"Even you, boy. Drink some wine, find a girl or a boy for the night… in the morning, I will kill you."

"I…" The boy coughed, "I don't…"

I smiled and looked to Dunstan. "Get the boy a flagon of wine."

"Yes, Commander." Dunstan bowed his head, shooting the boy a glare.

"Your name?"

"Florian Tyrell."

"A Tyrell?" I scoffed. "What esteemed company you are."

"I'm not of Highgarden, Ser," Florian clasped his hands, "I am fifth cousin to the Queen."

"Well," I turned around to take the flagon of Dornish red from Dunstan, "toast with your men tonight. Not to any King or Queen or Lord or Lady. Toast to the soldiers. And try to kill as many of us as you can tomorrow."

Florian nodded, "Thank you… Prince Vorian." I nodded back to him.

"I wish you good fortune in the battles to come."

 **Aeron Targaryen – The Red Keep, King's Landing, the Crownlands**

I resided in my King's chambers, in my King's garb looking out across my Kingdom. I looked towards my bed, where my father slumbered before me. I could still remember his frail body, wheezing and groaning. That was truly the sign of a Great King – one who dies in his own bed at an old age.

Draegor would never have been able to achieve such a feat. Since the blinding of his eyes, he'd been weak. Lost without his sword. Killing him was a mercy. At least, this was what I told myself.

There had been some tempestuous turmoil since my coronation, but such is nature's way. At least now I was in power, and the Seven Kingdoms had stability and an absence of enemies.

All except Visenya.

It's strange to think I loved her more than any of my siblings. I thought she at least might have understood, but I suppose that was foolish of me. She was Viserys' twin before she was my sister. Laena… she may have sworn her fealty, but I knew her well. Loyalty sworn before a blade is no true loyalty.

But she had razed Winterfell on my orders. If it were not for this, I'd have kept in the Black Cells with the wild little Stark, the weakest little buck and the last remnant of Viserys.

She had been washed and clothed in a black and red gown, one similar to what my father's wife would often wear in her youth. Her cheek was pink and scarred, a small impression of a blade painted against her skin.

"What did you do?" I flitted my eyes over to Lady Theadosia.

"Tutored her, some." Lady Thea stroked a pale finger against Ashriel's burn. Her eye twitched, but there was no pain upon her face.

"Tutored or tortured?"

"I tamed her," Lady Thea picked up Ashriel's hand and stood her at her full height. Ashriel's golden eyes looked at me. No defiance, no hatred or disgust. It were as though she were seeing me for the first time. A small smile curled on the side of her lip as she curtsied, eyes dropping to the ground out of… shyness?

"Lady Ashriel," Lady Thea linked her arm in Ashriel's, "whom is your King?"

"King Aeron, of course!" Ashriel smiled, shaking her head as though the question was ridiculous to her.

"And whom is the traitor of the Realm?"

Ashriel's eyes flickered. She glanced around the room, blinking her misty eyes rapidly. But, with a soothing kiss from Lady Thea, a snowy finger stroking her burn again, Ashriel let out a small giggle. "The Oathbreaker, Viserys."

Lady Thea turned towards me, smiling. I couldn't smile wide enough. How I wished Viserys was here to see this. To see the one that he had left here turned against him, naming me King…

"What a gift you are, My Lady…" I smiled, walking towards her and leaning forwards towards those tulip-shaped lips. Thea's fingertips pressed against my lips.

"There's more."

Lady Thea moved towards Ashriel, unlacing her gown and letting it slip to the ground. Ashriel's lithe body didn't glisten with sweat and grime anymore. No, her skin was once again alabaster. Upon the side of her neck, which was covered by her gown, I saw a red engraving – the three-headed dragon. I smiled at the image – she was mine. However, just above the sigil, I saw her dark hair tied back and revealing a series of gold and silver studs and rings that covered her ears.

"You gave her these back?"

"Should I not have?"

I always hated them. It was a reminder of Ashriel's defiance to her parents. She wouldn't need them anymore. She was stripped of all unruly behaviour.

"Take them out," I wondered if her eyes would wander again. Would the woman Ashriel used to be suddenly awaken and curse me? Perhaps snatch the knife from my luncheon tray and try to stick me like a pig?

Nothing. No moment of hesitation. Ashriel immediately removed the jewellery from her ears with a simper. It seemed that this Ashriel was truly an improvement on the last.

"What can I do to repay such a gift, My Lady?"

Lady Thea removed her gown, and holding hands with Ashriel, moved towards me, guiding me back towards my bed.

 **Lucian Lannister – The Red Keep, King's Landing, The Crownlands**

I strode through the stone corridors of the Red Keep. How I'd missed these halls of power. Braavos was barely more civilized than the Dothraki Sea. Beautiful and elegant, yes, but Lord Oroville began telling me what had happened upon my return.

"Baelish?" I frowned. "Why would she come South?"

"I believe the King sent for her," Oroville responded. I bit my lip: The woman was bold, devious, and loved her son more than anyone. This last quality was her most dangerous. "She's been incredibly… attached to him."

"I can imagine…" I began to turn over plans in my brain like pages of a book. And now, with Baelish here, I'd need to start a new chapter. "Your daughter, the Queen, must be adored by her, surely?"

"I confess that Dyanne has been rather… taken with her son. She spends many days in his chambers, talking in hushed whispers."

"Is anyone else privy to these whispers?"

"Only flies and spiders."

"It seems we will have to find ourselves one of the two, then."

As we came closer to the royal apartments, a door opened, and Lady Dyanne exited into the corridors. Her dark blonde hair was tied in a crown braid. Having her son's ear, I suppose it was only fitting she had a crown of some sort. Her warm hazel eyes drifted to the steel pin on my chest. She walked towards me, hips swaying slightly.

"Lord Lucian, I believe."

"My Lady," I bowed my head, as did Lord Oroville.

"My Lord Lucian," Lord Tyrell held a hand out, "allow me to present you to the Dyanne Baelish, Lady of the Fingers."

"The Fingers?" I frowned, "Ah, of course. That… small stretch of land."

"I do hope that's not snobbery in your voice, My Lord." Dyanne smirked.

"Gold does have that effect on a person like myself." I smiled.

Dyanne turned to Lord Oroville.

"My Lord, may you give us a moment?"

Lord Oroville turned to me, brows stitched together in confusion as he bowed his head and left.

Dyanne slipped an arm around mine.

"You must tell me about your trip to Braavos. I heard that the Drowned Town went up in flames! A single Dothraki screamer slaughtered at least a dozen men! A bloody battle in the streets!"

"The Sealord is no great man," I explained. "There's a reason why Fleabottom has never risen up against us."

"Have you so quickly forgotten the affair at the Sept of Baelor?" Her voice turned cold.

"Of course not, My Lady, but that was a select few. Rats."

"My mother always told me King's Landing was full of rats."

"Vipers too."

"Which is this… Lyanna Waters of yours?" Lady Dyanne turned to face me, .

"What makes you think she's either?" I raised an eyebrow.

Lady Dyanne scoffed, wobbling around to look through the stained glass and out across the city. White stone as far as you can see, the faint tufts of smoke from Fleabottom, the great plumes from the forges on the Street of Steel. Our city.

"You did not correct me."

"Pardon?"

"Bastards of House Lannister would be 'Hill.' Lyanna Hill. Not Waters."

I rolled my eyes and turned away from her. "Perchance I was merely preoccupied with talk of Dothraki."

"She bears a striking resemblance," Lady Dyanne said, looking at the stained glass itself. The visions of Aegon and his sisters, Rhaenys and Visenya. "That white hair… the violet eyes."

"Her mother was a whore," I said simply. "A woman from Lys. She died some time ago."

"Kind of you to raise the girl yourself. A whore's bastard you've not met before." Dyanne's mouth morphed into a smile. Warm and full of trust. "You're a good man, My Lord. I thank you for counselling my son in his father's stead. In my own."

"He is My King, My Lady. It is not just my duty, but an honour to do so."

Lady Dyanne laughed, "I'm glad you think so. There are those who… well, they still see him as a bastard. Since you can… sympathise with the predicament… I suppose what I am trying to say is that I am glad he has you as an ally."

I would've felt guilty. Maybe if our kingdoms were not plunged into a civil war, and dragons did not raze keeps, I might've felt a flicker of remorse. But all those things had happened. And more importantly, it had been my daughter Aeron locked in the Black Cells.

"Please excuse me, My Lord," Lady Dyanne bowed her head before retreating to her apartments. I remained bowed until the door had closed. Then, across the corridor, I saw King Aeron's chamber door open.

I swept to the nearest pillar, peering around it, and witnessed Lady Theadosia Bolton lacing up her bodice, followed by Ashriel Tyrell. Her ears free of gold and silver, with a large smile on her face as Theadosia brushed a finger across her lips.

Despicable.

 **Well guys – another long delay, but basically it was this last POV that took so long because… well, I wanted to make sure I did it right, and I tried it with a bunch of different characters… hopefully you enjoyed it!**

 **Anyway, the next chapter is called '** _ **The Ice Dragon**_ **', and takes place in King's Landing, Winterfell and Beyond the Wall.**

 **I'm gonna get started on it now (as I'm a little ill) and hopefully upload it within 24 hours. See you then!**

 **R.**


	13. The Ice Dragon

**Hey guys! Well, as promised, here's another chapter (A lil' late, but I am ill in fairness)! I think I'll start the next one today, but I doubt it'll be up tomorrow since… well, I gotta keep up with other work. Anyway, here is '** _ **The Ice Dragon**_ **'.**

 **Taenara Faenis – The Red Keep, King's Landing, The Crownlands**

I sat next to Delyth, sipping a cup of pomegranate juice. I stretched a hand to tentatively hold a lemoncake. It didn't seem right for me to be here, with all this food. Sugared cherries, oranges, lemoncakes and wine-soaked raisins. Nine months ago, I would dance for scraps of food and coin. Then, I was taught how to kill. Now, I was living as a handmaiden to the Queen.

She was beautiful and more womanly than myself. I had not even flowered – something that the others girls from the alleys of Braavos oft teased me of. I could see her belly starting to swell with the babe inside. Delyth stroked a sun-kissed finger against her dress.

"He's been hungry lately," She informed me, "it seems my stomach is now an endless pit!"

I smiled and put the lemoncake to my mouth. Love above, it tasted divine!

"Do you do this all the time, Your Grace?"

"When the weather calls for it. Though, it shall be summer in the next few years – we shall do this near every day if the little Prince does not keep me busy so." Delyth giggled and plucked a sugared cherry from the dish in front of her. "By then he'll have a little brother or sister of his own!"

"I'm sure, Your Grace."

"This must seem all so strange to you, dear Lyanna. In a strange place with strange people… this food must be so strange to you as well."

"It's not too strange…"

"Well, I am sure you'll come to love it here. Maybe I can find you a husband of your own when you're at the proper age, hm? Oh," Delyth tapped me vigorously on the knee, "I have a cousin! Florian! He's not that smart, nor is he that wealthy, but he has been bravely defending us from the Dornish hordes! You know of Dorne?"

"No, Your Grace."

"Oh, it is a ghastly place. Full of savages…" Delyth leaned in closer to me. "Men _lie_ with each other there!"

"Oh." I nodded. Was this bad? It was seen as a very common thing amongst the Braavosi. Tutors oft lay with students to pass knowledge.

"You're too young." Delyth squeezed my hand. "Back as to what I was saying…" She stood up, "My cousin Florian. If you two were to wed, we'd be family! Wouldn't that be marvellous?"

"Indeed, Your Grace. But I've not met him."

"I hadn't met Aeron when I was betrothed to him." Delyth stood up and walked around the table, plucking a caramel-drizzled apricot from a bowl. "I was somewhat disappointed, back then. I expected to be wed to Viserys, in all truth." Delyth seemed disgusted by her own words.

"Viserys?"

"A traitor," Delyth casually waved a hand, "you'll pick this all up. Now, I met Aeron and… well, he was lovely." Delyth smiled vacantly as one hand went down to rub her belly. She blinked and turned to face me.

"May you fetch my sister? I suppose she is with Princess Laena somewhere."

"Of course, Your Grace." I dipped into a curtsy – or, rather, my best attempt at one, and then left the chambers to seek out Princess Laena.

 **Princess Laena Targaryen – The Black Cells, The Red Keep, King's Landing, The Crownlands**

A wild little wolf. Tylan Stark feasted ferociously on the scraps from the kitchen I had brought. His face was dark, his hair dripping down across his pale skin. A scrawny boy – much like Viserys had been when he was born.

"Most prisoners are scared that they're food is poisoned," I stated.

"Why would you poison it?" He scoffed. I rubbed my chin, my thumb brushing against the edge of my burns. Stark saw these too. "I thought fire couldn't hurt a dragon."

I stopped breathing for a moment. All I could remember was my chambermaid Jaida cackling maniacally as I flopped out of my bed, the fumes of my own burning skin stinking inside my nose.

"And I thought wolves stayed in packs," I replied in a steady voice. Stark frowned and went back to his food, hiccupping.

"I have some news for you. About your brother."

"Which one?"

I frowned. "Markas. Of course – do you have another brother?"

Stark nodded and hiccupped again. "Markas is going to," he paused to hiccup, "he's going to come for me, isn't he?"

I remembered those hopeful little eyes. That must've been what I looked like when I was told Draegor and father had died in the same night.

"Raff of House Bolton has him in his dungeons," I informed the little wolf. "Lord Alvar sits at Warden of the North."

Tylan looked down to the food on his plate. He looked as though he were about to be sick. Instead, his simply pushed the plate towards the gate and curled up into a ball on the floor, facing away from me.

"My Lord?"

"I don't want to talk anymore," He gasped before hiccupping. He shoulders seized up and it was clear, even from behind, that he was silently sobbing.

"I heard good things about Lord Markas." I placed a hand on the gate. "He was… well, you are all that remains of House Stark."

"Go away," Tylan asked in a cracked voice, before gasping sobbing breaths between his hiccups.

I watched him there for a while. He couldn't have been older than a decade old. Now he lay in the middle of that cell, his tears staining the cold stone floor. That curly black hair that covered part of his neck…

Too young. Too young for any of this.

I opened my mouth to say something, but what could I say? Upon losing Draegor and father, upon Ashriel being locked in these very cells, upon Viserys and Visenya fleeing to Dragonstone… what could anyone had said to me?

I closed my mouth and turned to leave the boy sobbing on the floor. But I wouldn't leave him there for good.

 **Alara Hornwood – Winterfell, The North**

I walked down the stairs carry the tin basin of fresh water, a white rag draped over my forearm as I passed the candles until I arrived at the cell at the foot of the stairs. The wrought iron gate was open, and upon walking inside, I found the Bolton cross, with the bloodied remains of a groaning Markas Stark lashed to it. His hair revealed the mess of where his ear used to be, his brow so beaten and swollen it covered one of his eyes. A deep gash sat on the edge of his nose, the tip of which looked to be half-pulled off.

In front of Markas was Raff. He turned to me with glee, those flint-grey eyes twinkling in firelight. Alvar's eyes. My eyes. He was missing his shirt, which was draped over the back of the cross. He walked over to me, dipping his hands in the water, cleansing them of Stark blood.

"You just missed the show." Raff smirked, sweeping a hand over his shorn scalp.

"Apologies, My Lord."

"Don't apologise," Raff said gently, a thumb under my chin, "you know how I hate apologies."

"I-"

Raff quickly shushed me, placing a wet finger against my lips and grinning.

"Clean him up. I'll return later."

Raff turned back to pick up his shirt, revealing his scarred back. A warren of grotesque sword wounds and arrow marks. He grabbed his jerkin from the table and exited the chambers, leaving me alone with the broken wolf.

I placed the basin on the stone slab by Markas' feet and soaked the cloth before brushing it against his brow. My eyes drifted down to the exposed flesh of where his right nipple used to be. I expected him to flinch again, but he just lay against the cross, his one good eye fixed on me.

"Lady Hornwood," he croaked.

"Alara," I corrected him as I pushed his hair back to reveal his grease-soaked skin. I brushed the wet cloth against it. He let out a small smile.

"I wish I could bathe."

"If I could, My Lord-"

"I know, I know," Markas said with a sigh. "You're a good person, Alara. Your father would be proud."

I licked the dryness on my lips. Jacke Hornwood, he wasn't my father anymore. And when Alvar inevitably returned, Raff would be told I was his sister. No doubt Alvar would write to his daughter, Theadosia, to have me legitimized as Bolton.

"I'm not a Hornwood," I informed Markas, "My mother was Melissa Manderly."

"Melissa?" Markas' hoarse voice whispered. I nodded.

"Alvar Bolton is my father."

Markas nodded. "Who knows?"

"Well… no-one."

"Don't tell anyone," he ordered.

"Why?"

"Growing up, I saw how my brother was treated. Half-Bolton, Half-Stark…" He shook his head, "Keep your name as Hornwood and well away from the Bolton's bloody legacy."

I glanced over my shoulder to make sure there were no guards or worse, Raff Bolton, lingering nearby.

"Keep ready, Markas," I was scared to even whisper, "when the time comes, I'll flee this place with you."

Markas let out a scoff – a pained laugh.

"Is this a trick?"

"What? Of course it's not a trick-"

"I'm a Stark of Winterfell, Alara. I won't be fooled-"

"I'm not fooling you, Markas, I'm trying to help! Would you rather stay here and die?"

"I won't plead for my life? I won't fall for another one of Raff's ploys and be humiliated and garner the last of my hope only to be-"

"Damn your pride, Markas, this isn't a trick!" I checked over my shoulder again, then turned back to his face. "Just… save your strength. I'll return soon."

I placed the cloth in the basin of rose-coloured water and began to walk away.

"Alara?"

I turned back to Markas.

"Thank you," the corner of his lip pulled up into a smile. "If what you say is true…"

"It is." I looked towards the staircase, where the dark shadows flickered with firelight. I spirited myself away, not entirely sure of why I had started down this path.

I suppose that, though my father was Bolton, I was not.

 **Julian – Beyond the Wall**

The North was beautiful. Snow and ice as far as one could see. No smoke from blacksmith forges or piss or shit running in alleyways. No cutpurses and knifemen skulking nearby. No starving children or crippled old men.

Instead, I saw trees, violet flowers and dark ravens. Even here, this far from civilization, life still existed. I'd spent so long in King's Landing, it was hard to imagine a place without city walls and a Lord presiding over. Here, when Will hunted a hare, we didn't have to worry about what Lord or Lady owned it. It was ours. True freedom.

I crept behind Will, my sword drawn as we peered over the mound of snow. A group of men and women wrapped in albino furs stood around a cave. They all held roughly-fashioned spears. A few of them, however, held actual blades.

"That looks to be castle-forged steel," I whispered to Will, who lay down lower than me to hide his larger frame.

"They scavenge corpses. Probably took it from a patrol."

I gripped my sword harder, feeling the wound steel blade beneath the leather pommel push back against my skin.

"What do we do?" I asked.

"We're here for a recon mission, not a slaughter," Will muttered as he peered over the snow once more. I saw his eyes narrow as he pointed towards the cave. "They're standing guard."

"For what, though?"

"I guess that's what we're here to find out." Will turned to me with a grin. "You're in at the deep end, boy."

"So, how do we get there?"

"I'm thinking…" Will muttered as he looked away through the woods, "I'm thinking I cause a distraction over yonder. They'll want to protect their children," Will said as he pointed to the small groups of infants, "so they'll leave only a handful here." I grabbed Will's arm.

"I don't want to make any orphans-"

"Then be quiet. Get into that cave and grab whatever it is they're guarding."

"And if it's a person?"

"Well, let's hope it's not." Will grinned and slapped a hand on my shoulder before crouching down and passing from tree to tree. It was clear he'd done this for the past decade. He didn't hesitate, his brow furrowed in concentration as he swept down onto his knees behind tree stumps and slid down hills of snow until he disappeared from eyesight.

"Prick…" I muttered as I turned back to view the wildlings. One of them sat with a newborn babe on his knee, as the woman whittled a piece of wood. Other girls chased each other around a fire. I couldn't help but smile at this. Wildling or a Southerner, children were still children.

I ducked down a little more, dipping one gloved hand into my cloak. A few moments later, a roar of flame engulfed a tree, spreading across the pine. I looked over to the Wildlings, my heart in my throat as I saw the children run. They shouted in a foreign tongue as the women and most of the men sprinted towards the fire, dropping their spears and grabbing handfuls of snow to throw.

This was my chance.

I jumped towards a tree and crouched behind a series of logs, which I crawled behind, checking to see the white boots trudge through the dirt. Most of them were facing the fire, or trying to gather their children. I waited until they turned away from me and scrambled to my knees, dashing into the cave and pressing my body up against a wall.

I held my sword close to my body as my eyes began to adjust to the dark. No-one was in here. There was nothing except a small stone pedestal, with a blow light dimly glowing. I checked over my shoulder and walked further into the cave, approaching the pedestal. As I came closer, I found a trasnparent horn. Cracked and fractured everywhere, but still whole and intact. It was hard to tell where the deep blue colour came from, but it was certainly from within the horn. Like ice or glass, I reached forwards to touch it. It was large – too large for one hand.

I sheathed my sword and put my hands under both ends of the horn, lifting it from its pedestal. However, as I turned to walk away, the cracks along the horn began to creak until the horn crumbled into a million drops of ice like blue sapphires and onto the cave floor.

I frowned at this, but then I heard it. A rumble. It was like an eagle or a raven, but deeper. The cave began to growl and shudder. I quickly lunged forwards, ducking from the pieces of stone and ice that cascaded down beside me. I saw the light get darker and darker until I leapt forwards, leaving the quake behind me.

As I fell face-first into the snow, I saw it sweeping past the trees, ripping them up from their roots as it beat its large wings. A dragon, completely white, that screeched a pained roar as it breathed flames of blue across the forest. I drew my sword, following it with my eyes. It was bigger than any dragon I'd ever seen. I couldn't imagine Belerion the Dread being half the size of it. Its talons slapped against tree tops and bent them, sending clouds of snow onto the women below.

I turned to see one of the children bawling, looking around in terror. I rushed towards him.

"Boy!" I shouted. "Here, to me!"

As I came closer, a spear lunged towards my face. I slapped it away with my sword, and saw a woman standing there, baring her teeth and growling at me.

"Get him out of here!" I shouted at her, taking several steps back.

A tree creaked and collapsed, falling upon the woman and sending her spear a way aways. I ran forwards, sticking my sword under the tree and lifting. I felt the cold air rush into my mouth as I yelled, pulling as hard as I could.

"Julian!"

I turned back to see Will on his rearing horse.

"Julian, leave the fucking Wildling!"

I looked down to the woman, who talked in a rushed foreign tongue. She looked towards the boy, shouting.

"Julian!"

"We can help them!"

"We're not here to bloody help them! Get on my horse-"

A second tree fell near Will. His horse reared again and began slightly bucking as Will pulled on the reigns of his horse. The white dragon swept lower, its wings cleaving towering pine trees in two while drowning the snow in blue flames.

I leant down and pushed my shoulder against the tree, digging my feet into the snow. I looked over to Will.

"Help me!"

Will looked up to the dragon that swept down again, it's wings hewing the branches of pine which tumbled down around me with masses of snow, burying me in white.

 **Well… 3000 words, almost. So, things are moving forwards – it's clear why it was called 'The Ice Dragon'. The next chapter should be up after the weekend.**

 **Remember to submit characters – I need Wildlings more than anything else.**

 **The next chapter will be called '** _ **Prodigal Sons**_ **', and is set in the North and King's Landing. It shouldn't take too long to write, so I'll get it up as soon as I can.**

 **Enjoy your weekend guys!**

 **R.**


	14. Survivors

**Okay guys, finally on the mend. I've been planning the next project and… well, it's going to be very different in tone to this one. There's 2 or 3 more stories I want to tell set in the Ice and Fire universe, so if you're thinking "ah, it's too late to get involved with this one", don't worry, because after this series, there'll be something similar but very different to sink your teeth into.**

 **Just wanted to do a quick shout-out to** _ **neverbess**_ **who's been with this story since, like, Day 1 and has been doing some OC aesthetics which are seriously awesome. Check 'em out at: post/183551284256/neverbess-character-aesthetic-posters-three**

 **Anyway, this is a meaty 4,000 chapter to sink your teeth into. Please remember to send in characters – I need some of the Free Folk, and a couple of Brothers of the Watch wouldn't go amiss.**

 **Finn Snow – 5 Miles East of Ramsgate, The North, Westeros**

Home.

I'd forgotten the vastness of it all – like the sun would never set on it. Unlike my sister, Evie, whose name ruled over the North, mine _was_ the North. I suppose that, in the absence of my mother, Maryana, I found the Kingdom itself to be my mother. The cold winter made me appreciate the fire in my hearth. The rain, the roof over my head. It was a part of me. And I felt that, in some small way, I was a part of it. In a way beyond the Starks and the Boltons. I was just a Northerner.

The cold breeze from the sea whipped against my face, fluttering my hair in front of my eyes. My feet pressed down and sank into the dirt of the bay. There was no port we could trust to remain quiet about our arrival. I'd spent the past four and a half years cursing the North and my family. But feeling the prickling of a Northern wind upon my skin…

The Second Sons waded through the sea, pulling a crate-loaded rowboat onto the bank. Ser Derrick stood on the dirt, a heavy cloak wrapped over his shivering shoulders.

"Bracheo! Lazan!" He whistled loudly to the other men, who came jogging over. "I want you to go West and buy us several horses. Some wagons too."

The pair of men nodded and began following the coast West. Derrick set about ordering his men to set up camp more in-land. Being a mercenary company, it was unsurprising how quickly they set up a camp, taking water from the lake and boiling some of it to drink and using the rest to wash.

I couldn't bring myself to splash the water on my face. It just didn't feel right.

Of course, I knew that if the body had been kept onboard, it would have rotted away. And I knew that Helesa had praised the Red God, but these small excuses only made me feel more guilty. A week back on the ship, I'd been left on my own to say my goodbyes to her. In truth, there hadn't been much to say. I just thought in silence about our times together. The arguments, the long days we'd spend in bed together, the fantasies we'd play out of living in different cities once I'd earned enough gold. And, once I felt ready, I told her how much I'd miss her and committed her body to Narrow Sea. I hoped that her Red God would find her down amongst the depths.

"Finn," Derrick called over to me, "the others in my tent."

I took a breath and stood up, shaking off the thoughts and rubbing my knuckles against my eyes with a sniff. I dawdled along the beach in step with Derrick, who rubbed his hands together.

"Strange, isn't it? Being back here and all?"

"Aye," I responded.

"Forgot how bloody nippy it is 'round here." Derrick turned to me with a friendly smile, waiting for me to mirror it. Another 'Aye' was about all I could muster. Derrick, most likely sensing I wasn't in the mood for small talk, led me inside the muddy-brown tent.

Mikko sat at the table, one arm dangling by his side as the other was being darned by Evie, whose eyebrows tugged down as her tongue began peeking out from her agape mouth. She'd always had this look when concentrating – even when she was little more than a babe learning to walk.

On the other side of the table sat Ichabod Cerwyn. Frizzy auburn hair fell down to his shoulders and strands began to fall into his greying beard. His brown eyes flickered over to me as I entered with Derrick.

"Finn Snow." Cerwyn rose from the table. "We haven't had much time to talk yet."

"No, we haven't." I walked over to the table, helping myself to a tin cup of honeyed wine.

"I trust you and the Lady Evelyn are of the same mind when it comes to Winterfell."

I looked over to Evie, who knotted the thread over Mikko's wound before severing it from the spool with a knife. I recognized it – dark hilted with a darker blade. Half the size of a normal dagger. One of the many knives on Mikko's belt. The way she held the knife, so unfamiliarly, so hesitantly, her eyes on the blade as if she feared it would slip out of her hands and stab her…

"Snow?"

I turned back to Cerwyn. "Yes?" I shook my head. "Yes, I am. If we can receive reinfocements, we can march on Winterfell within a fortnight."

Derrick carried a map over to the table and unravelled it across, holding stones on the four corners. Cerwyn pointed at the most southern point of the map. "House Reed has lost their Lord Robard and his eldest, Domeric. His youngest, however, Jaran, still remains in Greywater Reach with his half-sister, Lorra." Cerwyn paused to clear his throat – as if he was actually sick from what he was saying. "The Reeds are loyal to House Stark, and I'm sure they'll help us in this battle."

"What's wrong, Cerwyn?" Derrick walked around the table to approach him. "You sound a tad… disappointed."

Cerwyn said nothing and chewed his tongue.

"Cerwyn," I said after a moment of silence, "head to Greywater Reach, rally the crannogmen and accompany them with your banners to Winterfell two weeks hence."

Cerwyn let out a scoff as he glanced to Evie, who sat next to me. "Do you agree with these orders, My Lady?"

"Of course she agrees," I said quickly, "we need an army, and more men is better than none at all. Tell him, Evie." I turned to Evie, who looked from me to Cerwyn than back to me again.

"Right." She coughed. "Of course. And Ser Derrick, I would have you go to Bear Island."

Derrick's eyes grew wide as all the breath was seemingly stolen out of his breast. "Bear Island, My Lady?"

"Your father's House holds one of the strongest armies left in the North. At least, that is what Lord Cerwyn told me…"

"A ravenscroll would do just as well," I said to Evie as I rubbed my head, "I need Derrick here, in command of the Second Sons."

"What seems more likely to Rolan?" Evie raised an eyebrow. "That his son has returned from exile, or that Raff has forged a ravenscroll as bait?"

I clenched my jaw and looked back to the map, examining the keeps once more. "I need to find someone to go to Karhold…"

"Karhold has been besieged by Bolton banners," Cerwyn informed me as he pointed to the map, "it's been that way for a while now. No way in, no way out."

"Cerwyn, Derrick." I rubbed my eyes and sat down in Cerwyn's chair. "I'll see you two weeks from now."

"Aye, Snow." Cerwyn gave a stiff nod to me and a slightly deeper bow of the head to Evie before leaving. Derrick grasped my forearm firmly and gave a wink before exiting the tent. I let out a long breath and looked to the map, my eyes falling on the marking 'Winterfell'.

"That's what I would have done," Evie said finally.

"Ey?"

"I would've sent Cerwyn to the Neck as well."

I gave a short nod and took another sip of the wine, letting out an exhale as I felt the sickly drink wash over my throat. I wasn't much for it, but what I remembered of the Seconds Sons most was how little they cared for taste. As long as they were drunk, they were merry.

I tapped my finger against the cup as both of my hands clasped it. I leant forwards, elbows on my knees, and fixed my eyes to the ground. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Evie biting her lip, eyes flickering over to me.

"I'm sorry," Evie said finally. "About Helesa. She-"

"Evie, you don't talk about Helesa." I put my cup back on the table. "Ever. Understand?"

Evie opened her mouth and closed it again. "Yes, Finn."

I stood up. "I need to find a cloak…" I muttered as I exited the tent.

 **Elecia Tyrell – The Red Keep, King's Landing, The Crownlands**

Lord Lucian was seen by most as an interesting man. Hand of the King, Lord of Casterly Rock – I didn't see him as being any more interesting than one of the many roses stitched onto my dresses. He was simply the same as Rylon Baratheon – cared for the King to some degree and wanted to empower his House more so.

However, when Lucian had invited me to take lunch with him, I was incredibly intrigued – what could the Hand of the King want with the Lady of Thorns?

The Hand's office was intimate: gold round windows, strange rugs and wall hangings that I presumed to be Braavosi or Lyseni. I examined the tapestry of a pair of ferocious dragons, both raining fire down upon one another.

"Aeron and Viserys?" I asked Lucian.

"Yes," Lucian straightened up, "I met with the Sealord during my time in Braavos. He wanted to pay the new King a gift." Lucian leaned back in his chair, scratching his chin. I could see the sides of his jaw clench and unclench slightly. He was thinking – thinking hard.

"Forgive me for my bluntness, My Lord Hand," I said, deciding to relieve him, "but you invited me here with a purpose beyond my company?"

"Yes." Lucian cleared his throat. "I'm afraid, My Lady, that I've uncovered some news pertaining to your son, the King."

"And?"

"And your other daughter, the Lady Ashriel."

I let out a sigh, rubbing the side of my temple and leaning back into my chair. Aeron had been the chance for a new kind of king. A wise and benevolent monarch. A holy and religious one. But, now, it seemed he was starting to fall into the ways of the other men before him.

"So that's why I am here," I sighed, leaning forwards to sip some rose-coloured tea.

"Excuse me?"

"As the smallfolk say, the King eats and the Hand shits." I gestured to the stern golden-haired man. He ran a thumb against his crooked nose and shifted in his seat.

"If the King were to father a bastard with your eldest, it may impact upon her future match. And, after all, bastards can be… problematic in lines of succession."

"So, what would you have me do?"

"It's no use refusing a King." Lord Lucian poured us both a cup of wine. "I could arrange for the Maester to a brewing a pot of moon tea?"

"Or he could spill his seed elsewhere." I'd expected Lord Lucian's response – a flicker of a widening in his eyes. "Please, My Lord, I have but two daughters and am not yet barren – I'm well aware there are other means of finishing a man."

"Good." Lord Lucian nodded. "You can pass these lessons onto your daughter." Lord Lucian picked up his cup. "It's a shame Lady Theadosia's mother is in Winterfell…" He muttered to himself.

Theadosia Bolton, the Northern girl? I furrowed my brow as Lord Lucian sipped his wine. "Why is that a shame?"

"Pardon?" Lord Lucian blinked.

"Why is it a shame the Bolton girl's mother is not here?"

"I- no reason, My Lady," Lord Lucian cleared his throat, "a simple matter I should not be discussing…" He rose from his chair.

"Why not?"

"I do not like to make a habit of talking behind my King's back."

"The King is my son now. I promise you, My Lord, I shan't interfere with any matters you have planned."

Lord Lucian bit his lip, drumming his fingers along the stone pillar he stood beside. Finally he nodded.

"When I saw the Lady Ashriel leaving Aeron's bedchambers, she was not alone." I raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "Lady Theadosia was there too."

Both my daughters bedding Aeron… well, there were worse things that could happen. When Ashriel refused to marry Folan Swann and mutilated her ears with gold and silver, I'd not expected to find her a better match. But, bedding the King… well, there was little to worry about in the way of heirs.

Many men have mistresses. Especially in times of war. But Theadosia Bolton... though the North was full of twisted rumours and superstitions of House Bolton wearing cloaks stitched out of skins, there must've been an inch of truth within them. What was most unsettling was that Theadosia was not a mistress or a whore. When I had looked within her eyes, I had seen nothing looking back at me except the harsh indifference of the North. The winters that killed babes at their mother's breast and Lords by their hearth.

I doubted that the Lady of the Dreadfort would take kindly to being the King's whore when being his Queen must've felt so within reach.

"Thank you for telling me this, My Lord." I gave Lord Lucian a warm smile. "As promised, I shall not interfere with your plans."

 **Lord Commander Aleksander Karstark – Castle Black, The Wall, The North**

Wyllis Blackwood stood in front of me, hands clasped behind his back as I scrawled my quill against the parchment. The Ice Dragon… I knew it wasn't a myth. I'd spent so many years out here on the edge of the Realm, the edge of civilization. I'd seen many strange and inexplicable things. Giants and direwolves and shadowcats. Now, an Ice Dragon?

"Can we recover the body?" I looked up at Blackwood.

"I don't think that'd be wise, My Lord. He was caught beneath a mound of snow." The Blackwood ranger kept his eyes on the ground.

"What you saw out there," I set my quill down, "is something men can't understand. I think it'd be best if you kept this from your brothers. Just for now."

"Of course, Lord Commander." Blackwood bowed his head.

"To your duties then, Ranger."

Only twenty minutes had passed before I was to give another audience. Bringing a wagon of food and ale was my sister by law, Lady Brigot. She stood a good two heads shorter than myself, her waves of brown hair tied up like a Southnor woman. She was wrapped in a woollen grey dress, adorned with a white sun stitched across her chest.

"Brother," She smiled warmly.

"Lady Brigot." I bowed my head. I leant on the balcony railing, examining the crates and barrels be unloaded by my men. "As thankful as I am for these supplies, I understand that Karhold is still under siege?"

"It is, Lord Commander. But the Night's Watch protects us all, Bolton and Karstark."

"Ah, Lady Brigot…" I felt the corners of my lip pull up into a smile. This far North, I mostly talked about the maintaining of the Wall, the posting of the brothers and organizing of raids. "It's been so long since I have talked like this."

"Like what, My Lord?"

"You want something," I said as I led her into my chambers. "I haven't been flattered in years, I'd almost forgot how much it works." I sat down behind my desk. "What can I help you with?"

"Your brother, Jon, has lost faith. He believes that House Bolton has won the War in the North."

I nodded, biting my lip; I'd tried to ignore the war as best I could. Knowing my little brother was trapped inside his home – our home. Knowing mine and Renn's kin were slaughtered… it all would've filled me with rage if I were still in my youth.

"They have," I said finally, "House Bolton are the power in the North now."

"Lorra Reed is marching North." Brigot shook her head. "The Mormonts still have their banners. House Cerwyn…"

"Why are you here, Brigot?"

She took a breath and smoothed the creases of her dress. "I want you to command your men to march South on Karhold." I shook my head and rose to my feet as Brigot held out a desperate hand, "How many men guard the Wall? Eight thousand? More? A fraction of that could conquer the North…"

"I swore an oath, Brigot. All men here did."

"To guard the realms of men. The North is a realm that needs to be guarded from the Boltons."

I picked up my parchment, handing it over the desk to her. "That's a report I received today. A new recruit died after encountering an Ice Dragon."

Brigot raised an eyebrow, "An Ice Dragon?"

"You don't believe him?"

"I believe he saw something. Perhaps something we've not seen in a while but… Ice Dragons? What next, the Frost Spiders and Wight Walkers?"

I straightened up fully. "The Wall was built thousands of years ago. Do you think we built a 700 foot wall to keep out Wildlings?" Lady Brigot took a breath.

"I didn't mean to offend you, Aleks. But… we're not talking about what's beyond the Wall. We're talking about what's behind it."

I shook my head. "Brigot, I bear no love for the Boltons. And I wish I could do something for you and Jon. But I swear an Oath. These men, they're my family now. My place is here."

Brigot handed me back the report and swept a hand through her hair. "I loved you as my husband does." Her lips turned into a thin line before she turned to leave. "What a fool I was."

 **Evie Stark – 5 Miles East of Ramsgate, The North**

 _Your Grace,_

 _I met your brother, Viserys, at Storm's End. He saved my life. I discovered that Storm's End was not the only keep that was razed – my home, Winterfell, has been burnt. My mother and brother along with it._

 _House Stark is gone, Your Grace. All except for me. I may have wed a Baratheon, but I am still a Stark._

 _I have a force of 2,000 men. After House Mormont joins, I shall have more than double that. By law, I am your sister. I would ask that you come North and help me reclaim my father's home. In return, I shall proclaim you Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and bend the knee, committing my men to your cause._

 _Evelyn of House Stark, Rightful Lady of Winterfell and Wardeness of the North._

It still felt strange to refer to myself as this.What with Markas and Tylan, I'd never expected to see myself as the Lady of Winterfell, like mother was. I wished that I could talk to Finn about it, but he wouldn't understand. He'd never had to wrestle with birthright like this. Then again, Finn didn't want to speak about anything.

We needed allies. Viserys had been kind to me, so I had no reason to assume his sister, Visenya, would not also be. From how Markas had spoken about not wanting Southern support… well, Haylise had seem nice. It was strange to think they were all dead now. My husband, Ryleigh and his sister, Haylise. Her husband, Viserys… Now I had returned to Westeros, I knew it was a matter of time before a dragon's shadow darkened the North again. We needed Visenya to protect us from it.

I handed the ravenscroll to one of Ichabod Cerwyn's soldiers, who swept into a bow before leaving. However, as I turned back around in my tent, I found Mikko sitting at my table, staring at me.

"How did you get into my tent?"

"I've learnt to be quiet," He stated.

"Why are you here?"

"Enemies surround us," Mikko informed me, "Your brother thought it would be wise for you to have a protector."

"I didn't think my brother would've thought about me at all," I replied curtly, walking towards the tray of food that sat on my bed.

"You don't believe that," Mikko replied. "You just want him to talk to you."

I bit my lip hard, looking at the giant of a Dothraki that rubbed a rag against his small blades. "You don't know him as well as you think you do, you know," I finally said, "He's my brother. I grew up with him."

"I know," Mikko nodded, "but you didn't know Helesa." Mikko set his knife down, his eyes drifting off towards the candlelight "She was special to him. She was his, but he is still hers. Once they go… you never stop being hers."

I raised an eyebrow. "Are you still talking about Finn?"

Mikko's fingers fiddled with the pearls around his neck as his eyes tore themselves away from the firelight to flicker up at me for a moment. "Her name was Alias. She was taken from me."

I didn't want to like Mikko. He thought he knew my brother better than me. He was a Dothraki screamer. But I recognized the quiver in his voice. I sat myself down on my bed.

"My mother," I said finally, "She passed not so long ago." I could still remember my mother's drowsy smile, her trembling lip as I mentioned Tylan. My mother stroking my hand as she reminded me to get food and furs for the journey. Her last words. My promise to her. "I'm very tired, I think I would like to sleep now," I stood up and clasped my hands. Mikko nodded silently, standing up and exiting the tent.

Once I was alone, I stripped off my dress and climbed into the fur-covered bed. It was hard – harder than I'd expected. But I felt the furs rustle against my cheek and I imagined I was back in Winterfell. I imagined I could hear Tylan howling outside. I imagined I could hear Finn loudly dragging Markas out of his chambers. I allowed myself to get lost in this fantasy, where Simyn the stableboy would get nervous around me and often take several steps back so I wouldn't smell the horse-dung upon him. I knew this would only make me awaken more sad, but for a moment, I was home, and I was with my family.

 **Julian – Beyond the Wall**

I could see white. Just sheets of white. For a moment, I thought it was the snow – that I must've been trapped beneath it. I could feel snow underneath me that sent shudders down my spine. But, as I turned my head, I sat something intrude on the whiteness – a tree.

I sat up, looking around. I sat upon a mound of snow, one of my legs buried below. I pulled at my leg, but I felt my ankle stay firmly lodged. With a sigh, I used my hands to shovel the snow and throw it away. I squinted my eyes and looked around – I didn't really know where I was. I had the memories of the Ice Dragon firmly beaten into my mind. But nothing looked the same. The cave was sealed shut and buried beneath the snow. Many of the trees had disappeared.

As I scooped away the last of the snow, my hand felt something around my ankle – a tree limb of some sort. But as soon as I locked eyes, I found a blackened hand clasped around my foot. I let out a yelp and kicked fiercely, slapping at the hand. I finally broke free – hoisting my leg out of the snow. Though the hand was still gripping my leg, it had snapped from the arm. I pried the fingers apart and threw the hand away with a shudder – one that wasn't because of the snow. I rose to my feet.

"Wyllis?" I shouted. "Wyllis!" All I heard were the echoes of my own voice, ringing out across the uncharted lands. I looked down at the hand, and found the most horrifying thing. Far worse than the Ice Dragon or Wildlings.

It was a child's hand.

Something lurched in my stomach. It reminded me of Roto's fresh face. Once again, a child with the rest of their life ahead of them had ended up dead. Last time it had been Aeron's fault. And now it was mine.

I shook off the thought. It wasn't my fault – how was I to know what that horn would do upon being touched? This was all because of the Lord Commander. He'd sent us out here. I pushed myself up off the snow, looking over to the blackened hand. I could still see the child trapped beneath the fallen tree.

"I'm sorry," I muttered before turning South and traipsing through the snow, my eyes scouring for horse tracks.

 **Meaty, right? I'm feeling full…**

 **A little question for you guys – do you like chapters of this length, or do you want me to chill out a bit?**

 **Also, too many POV's or do you prefer frequent changes? Let me know in a review.**

 **The next chapter is named '** _ **Murderers**_ **' and takes place at Dragonstone, King's Landing and Castle Black.**


	15. Murderers

**GUYS – we're officially halfway through this instalment. Yup, there's 30 chapters to this. So, picking up pretty much where we left off, welcome to '** _ **Murderers**_ **'…**

 **Visenya Targaryen – Dragonstone, The Crownlands**

If it was not for the sounds of the storm outside, one would never know there was a storm that raged. In the midst of night, I sat opposite Viserys at the table that mapped Westeros. He fiddled with the wooden dragons and crabs that sat around Dragonstone.

"Maegar Celtigar," I muttered the name drowsily because of some mixture of the wine, the heat from the hearth and the calmness inside Dragonstone against the tempest outside. "How did you find him?"

"Every bit as vile as mother said," Viserys responded. Only now, when I had wine in my belly, could I recognize how different he looked. Light patches of silver stubble lined his jaw, his hair growing wilder and untamed, the scar across his face looking darker and darker as his skin grew paler.

I pushed myself out of my chair and meandered over to him, stroking his jaw. "You need to shave, little brother." I walked past him and leaned against a stone pillar, admiring the storm outside.

The door to the chamber opened and Corlys entered. Unlike Viserys, Corlys had continued to groom himself. His white-gold hair was still cropped short, his blue tunic was unmuddied. Perhaps it was the wine, but the scorched mark on his hand even seemed to blend into his skin.

A far older man followed Corlys. Greyed hair, blue eyes and a pompous arrogance stank in the air around him.

"Lord Corlys, have you come to join us for a cup of wine?" I poured another cup.

Lord Corlys cleared his throat. "I'm afraid not, Your Grace."

"Pity…" I drank from the cup.

"Forgive my sister, she's seen fit to celebrate her name day." Viserys cast a look at Lord Corlys.

" _Our_ name day," I corrected him, "Do you know, My Lord, that I beat him into this world by two minutes? Even then he was a gentlemen… allowing the woman to enter first…"

Viserys rolled his eyes. "Is there something to report, Lord Corlys?"

Lord Corlys nodded, offering a hand to the older Lord behind him. "Lord Maegar Celtigar has formally claimed for you. His fleet is already underway."

"Good…" Viserys moved the wooden crabs to surround Dragonstone. He thumbed his chin and began manoeuvring the wooden units around Blackwater Bay. I looked up at Corlys who was still standing there, turning something over in his hands.

"Something else?" I asked him. He produced a small ravenscroll, offering it to me.

"How kind, My Lord. At least _someone_ remembered to get me a gift…" I cast a look over my shoulder to Viserys.

"Where's mine?" Viserys replied absent-mindedly.

"That wine wasn't easy to find – a rare blend of Arbor gold and…" I finally unravelled the ravenscroll and read the writing.

"And…?" Viserys looked up from the map.

"Have you met this… Evelyn Stark?" I frowned. Viserys' brow furrowed and he strode around the table, taking the ravenscroll from me.

"She survived Storm's End." He said quietly. I saw him re-read the message over and over again. I knew what he was looking for.

"Haylise might've survived as well." I nodded.

"… ' _Help me reclaim my father's home. In return, I shall proclaim you Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and bend the knee, committing my men to your cause'_." Viserys looked up at me. "They all still think I've died."

"It's a marvel that you didn't," I said as I took the ravenscroll back from him. "We're going to help her, then?"

"Why do you say that?" Viserys drummed his fingers on the table.

"Distressing damsels seems to be a Knight's forte."

Viserys let out a small grin – he still smiled like he was a child.

"If I may, Your Grace," Lord Celtigar spoke for the first time, his voice silken and smooth, "it would be wise to consider ignoring this request. At least for now."

"Ignoring it?" Viserys frowned. "Evelyn Stark boasts two thousand men – double that in a week or so."

"He's right," I nodded, "between the Lannisters and the Tyrells, Aeron is allied with the two richest houses in all the Seven Kingdoms. We need all the soldiers we can get."

"The North curses the name Targaryen," Lord Maegar insisted, "if they didn't do so when Torrhen Stark bent the knee, they did when the dolt Bennard Stark travelled South- and if they didn't do so then, they certainly did when your sister razed Winterfell."

"Evie Stark herself is asking for our help!" Viserys handed Lord Maegar the ravenscroll. "She's promised to swear us fealty- the past doesn't matter."

"The Northerners will never forget what our family has done to them," I reminded Viserys. "We can't help her – not now, it's just… it's not the right time."

"She's our sister by law, Visenya. I wed Haylise, and she wed his brother." He turned to Corlys. "Lord Velaryon, which Houses have declared for her?"

"Houses Karstark, Reed and Mormont are the only ones that notably defy Bolton rule," Corlys told me.

"If they're to be added to the Stark girl's army, it'll be a force to be reckoned with." Viserys smiled.

"Yes, Viserys, but tell me, how many Houses support House Bolton? My Lord?" I turned to Corlys.

"House Umber, House Glover, House Flint, House Ryswell-"

"Okay, okay, that's enough…" Viserys rubbed his eye.

"House Locke, House Manderly…"

"I said that's enough, thank you Lord Corlys." Viserys turned back to me. "You're right. The past cannot be erased. But Laena and Aeron razed Winterfell. They won't forget who wronged them. We need more men – the North could be valuable…"  
"The North isn't valuable!" I half-laughed, half-hiccupped. "It's a cold, damp place with cold, damp people. Full of superstitions and old wives' tales. But, the simple-minded brutes that dwell there… they could have their uses," I agreed with Viserys and stood up.

"Aeron razed their keep." Corlys nodded. "I'd dare say that Evie Stark has just as much reason to hate him as you."

"I need to think on this…" Viserys said finally. "My Lord, could you please show Lord Maegar to his chambers?"

Lord Corlys bowed to Viserys, then to me, then exited the chamber with Lord Maegar. Viserys let out a sigh and slumped into the chair next to me, pouring himself a cup of wine and sipping it. He looked down at the rose-coloured mix, smacking his lips together. "That is nice…" he muttered to himself.

"The last time we drank wine here," I informed Viserys, "was on our sixteenth name day."

"Three years ago today." Viserys smiled. "Mother insisted on us dining here."

"You're a Dragon, Viserys," I said in my best impression of mother's voice, "and Dragons are born on Dragonstone!"

Viserys let out an audible chuckle as he drank more of the wine. "Seven Hells, that's accurate – it's as though she were in the room with us."

"If only."

There was a notable shift then. Viserys' smile died a little and he looked down into his cup once more. "If Aeron's laid a finger on her…"

"Aeron is devious and bold, but he's not stupid." I reminded Viserys. "He wouldn't do anything to her… the Tyrells are still there. And you know how much Aeron needs everyone to adore him."

"You're right… of course, you're right." Viserys cleared his throat and nodded, taking a gulp of wine. I placed my hand over his.

"Remember what Mother always told us?"

"Targaryens only have each other," Viserys parroted the words back to me.

"We're the last of them. The last true Targaryens. I need you to trust me when I say everything will be alright." I leant back, filling up our cups of wine again. "Now, allow us a small moment of reminiscence before we return to the dull plannings of war."

 **Laena Targaryen - The Red Keep, King's Landing, The Crownlands**

I stroked a thumb over the ivory dragon as I moved it across the cyvasse board.

"What about Vhaeron?" I looked up at Aeron, who nodded slightly, eyes flitting across the board.

"Jhaegar?"

"Daerys?"

Aeron frowned before sweeping up from his chair to pluck an apple from his golden bowl. Aeron took a knife and began carving it as he still examined the board before stepping over and moving a jade trebuchet to take my dragon. I let out a curse under my breath, and Aeron's mouth twisted into a smirk.

"I hate this game…" I muttered.

"Which is one of the reasons why I love it." He grinned, placing the knife down next to the board.

"Shouldn't you decide on a girl's name also?"

"She's carrying a son, I'm certain." Aeron stood up and walked over to the balcony, examining King's Landing. "A young prince to carry on my legacy."

Legacy. What sort of legacy did Aeron have? One of fire and blood, of course. But shedding _my_ blood. Shedding the blood of children. I thought back to Tylan Stark, locked up in the Black Cells below. I thought about Viserys – how I imagined him plummeting to the depths of the Shipbreaker Bay. What would the songs sing of Viserys? No doubt they'd call him Viserys the Oathbreaker. Aeron had already cultivated a fine story for himself – the eldest son of Rhaegon who sat on the Iron Throne and already had a wife and heir.

My eyes fell on the knife by the cyvasse board. Sharp enough, I was sure. If I picked it up and moved quickly, I could end this war. Visenya would forgive me for the part I played, I was sure. As the eldest Targaryen, I would be placed on the Iron Throne.

I reached out to grip the knife. My heart hammered in my throat as I approached Aeron's back. A few more steps. I picked my target – the exposed skin behind his ear.

"My King!"

I swept the knife into the sleeve of my dress, turning around to see Ashriel rushing forwards. She dashed past me and flung her arms around Aeron, who laughed.

"Sweet sister." Aeron smiled. "I wasn't expecting to see you."

"I know, My King," Ashriel swept her dark black hair past her ear. Was she acting? The last time I'd seen Ashriel, it had been when Aeron forced her legs apart while she was chained to the walls. Now… I'd never seen her love anyone like that. Ashriel had always been meek and mousy.

"Ashriel?" I asked. She turned to face me, her golden eyes glinting with joy.

"Your Grace." Ashriel bowed her head as her arms wound around Aeron's waist. "It's a lovely day, don't you think?"

"Yes, of course…" I looked to Aeron. "What's… has something happened to her?"

"Ashriel's simply seeing things my way now." Aeron shrugged.

"The _right_ way." Ashriel placed a hand on his chest. I held my hand and returned to the cyvasse board, moving my crossbow unit towards Aeron's elephant.

"It's your turn."

Aeron glanced over to the board and then grinned once again, his lips parting and cracking along his cheeks. He sauntered over, Ashriel in tow, and leant down to move his dragon further down, next to my king.

"I win." Aeron emphasized his point by placing the apple peel into his mouth.

 **Wyllis Blackwood – Castle Black, The Wall, The North**

I sat in the courtyard, watching the new crop of recruits. Most of them were from the South – hoping to escape the war between the Targaryens. I watched the Lord Commander give them the same speech he'd been giving for the past ten years I'd been here. The Lord Commander finished his words and returned to his chambers.

The horn above bellowed once. Every Brother looked up, waiting for a second. Not a third though – there'd not been a third in thousands of years. Of course, the Wight Walkers would've existed at some point, but they'd all died out now.

"Ranger returning!" One of the stewards called. I frowned, looking over to Kenn Stark who shared my confusion.

"I thought the patrol just left?" I asked Kenn.

"Aye, it did…" Kenn looked through the tunnel at the figures. "Go fetch the Lord Commander. He'll expect a report."

I nodded and pushed myself up off the crate, walking across the courtyard. I kept my eyes on the gate, curious to see who would return. As I knocked on the Lord Commander's door, I did indeed see the last patrol that had left, but there was a third figure on the back of the horse who jumped onto the ground, shoving his way past his Brothers.

"Enter." I entered the chambers, closing the door behind me. The Lord Commander ran a hand across his shorn head. "Blackwood. Something to report?"

"Yes, My Lord. A patrol just returned, and Kenn Stark thought I should-"

The door behind me burst open, and Julian strode in, followed quickly by Kenn Stark. Julian's face was pale, with heavy bags under his eyes, his cheeks shallow and gaunt. He marched towards the Lord Commander.

"So which folk would you have me kill today?" Julian bellowed.

"You told me he was dead!" The Lord Commander looked to me.

"I thought he was!"

"You were sorely fucking mistaken," Julian growled to me. "It wasn't a scouting mission – he sent us in there to find a weapon! A horn that summoned an Ice Dragon!"

"It works, then?" The Lord Commander rose from his seat slowly. I moved forwards and grabbed Julian before he could lunge at the Lord Commander.

"Thousands are dead thanks to your damned greed!" Julian bawled at him.

"You've lost your head, man!" I pushed Julian back. "Think! No man can summon an Ice Dragon…"

"A man meddling with dragonhorns can. You've spoken before about the direwolves, the giants. All the stories we've heard are true." Julian turned back to the Lord Commander, barking at him like a rabid dog. "You've turned me into a murderer!"

I stepped between them again, keeping Julian at bay. If he struck the Lord Commander, it'd be death. "Seven Hells, Julian!"

"You'd stand beside him, Will?"

"You were not supposed to use it there, Julian," the Lord Commander spoke calmly. Loudly, but calmly. "You were meant to examine it."

"You are tampering with things well beyond your knowledge, old man!"

The Lord Commander rose from his seat, glaring at Julian before growling lowly, "You're confined to quarters." He turned to me, "Blackwood. Arrange another party. You'll seek out the other horns…"

"Others?" Julian shouted. "What right have you-"

"Get him out of here!"

 **Well… damn that's a chapter. I know, not that long, but I didn't want to make it longer and then not upload it and blah blah blah blah blah…**

 **Anyway, I'm not sure when I'll start the next chapter. Probably soon-ish. Not tomorrow though – I've got so much work… but thenagain, it's a fairly short chapter next… only 2 POV's.**

 **Anyway, the next chapter is called '** _ **Return**_ **' and takes place in the North and in Dorne.**

 **Don't forget to review!**

 **R.**


	16. Return

**So, here's another chapter.**

 **Lorra Reed – Moat Cailin, The North**

Moat Cailin was the stronghold of the North. Despite having been rotten for eight thousand years, it still sat proudly atop the tallest hill in the Neck. It represented the North and it's folk, but more than that, it represented the crannogmen. Attacked by Southnors, Wight Walkers and dragons, we endured in Hearth, Heart and Harvest.

Towering over the mist and fog of the swamplands below was the Children's Tower, tall and slender, protruding into the air like the tip of a sword raised towards the heavens. Out of it, came Lord Duncan Fenn, linen cloths wrapped around his most of his swollen face. How he saw out of it, no-one knew, but the Gods guided him, for he hadn't fallen in battle yet. He stayed silent, as always, and handed me a ravenscroll.

"Thank you, My Lord." I took the ravenscroll from him, unfurling it and flitting my eyes across the words.

 _Lorra of House Reed, Lady of Greywater Reach_

 _We've not met before. My father was Bennard of House Stark. I have returned to Westeros with an army of sellswords and the forces of House Cerwyn. Ser Derrick has journeyed to Bear Island to return with the men of House Mormont._

 _Lord Ichabod Cerwyn has told me that you are amongst the last of the strongest houses in the North. I ask you to journey to Winterfell and help us besiege our home and win it back from Bolton hands._

 _Winter is Coming, My Lady. The War in the North cannot continue when it comes._

 _Finn Snow._

I rolled the ravenscroll back up. All I knew of Bennard's bastard was of how rough he was. That and the fact he was exiled four years ago. But now he had returned – with an army to retake Winterfell, no less.

I'd marched the remainder of my men to Moat Cailin because it was the best strategy against the Boltons for when they finally marched on the Neck. Now, Finn Snow was asking me to leave my stronghold with the last of my men and enter a siege of Winterfell? The only other impregnable fortress in the North?

"Finn Snow," I informed Lord Fenn, "He wants us to help him re-take Winterfell." Duncan Fenn just stared at me. At least, I assumed he did. "House Karstark are still silent. Perhaps the Umbers have finally broken through and slaughtered them?" I closed my eyes, thinking about my father and Domeric, butchered at the hands of Raff Bolton. "Ready the men." I nodded. "We march at dawn for Winterfell."

 **Ser Derrick Mormont – Bear Island, The North**

Nearly twenty years I had spent in exile. Two decades since I'd seen those rocky shores with arching pine trees, gnarled oaks and flowered thornbushes.

I followed the stream down into my family's Hall, nestled between the steep hills. Running a hand along the moss-covered stones, I felt a smile creep along my face. I'd never dared to dream I would return here. I looked up at the wooden hall in the distance. Next to the castle gates was the deep engraving of a bear against the wood. It wasn't as big as I remembered. I remembered clambering atop my father's shoulders to see it properly.

"Who goes there?" A Mormont guard called from behind her bow. I looked up at the woman.

"Ser Derrick of House Mormont. I've come to see my father."

 **Vorian Dayne – Dorne**

I scoured my eyes over the faces of the dead Reachmen, looking for a face. His face. That unnamed man I never learnt the name of. I could still remember his grunts and groans – the sounds that had haunted every waking moment of my life for the past thirteen years. I'd seen his face a handful of times while I had been captured by the Reachmen, and I would never forget it.

No, it was wrong to say it haunted me. It spurned me. Every Reachman I rose my sword to, I thought back to the pain and terror I had endured as I stuck my spear through them like hogs. But it was in these moments, in the aftermath of a battle, where I scanned the faces of Reachmen and saw no faces I recognized. These were the moments that worsened me. I glanced across the faces of the fallen – those of whom still had a face.

I leant down to grab the banner of the Tyrell Rose, tearing off a measure to wipe my neck clean of blood, freckled with sand.

"Vorian!"

I looked up to see Dunstan walking towards me, pulling a Reachman behind him, his whip coiled around the man's neck. I grinned, throwing the rag away and sticking my spear into the ground so I could remove my helm. Placing it on the top of my spear, I refastened the drawstrings of my gauntlets.

"I didn't know Roses grew in these Mountains." I took a few steps forwards, examining the knight in ornate steel-flowered armour. "So I must presume your place is not here." I looked to Dunstan. "Remove his helm."

Dunstan did so, and I saw the golden eyes and light brown curls of Florian Tyrell. He squinted at the light, his hands still clutching Dunstan's whip that constricted around his throat.

"Let him go, Dunstan."

Dunstan nodded and walked over to the boy, unwrapping the tail from his neck. Florian fell down on all fours, gasping for air.

"You fought well, Reachman," I said with a smile, "Truly, I am impressed."

"Lord Dayne," He gasped, "I ask for mercy expected of nobility."

My men laughed at this, looking to see how I would execute him. With my spear? With my bow? With my bare hands?

"How old are you, Lord Tyrell?"

"Seventeen, Ser."

I crouched down to speak face to face, "You're tall for your age. And you would make a valuable hostage. You're prettier than most of my men's wives." I stood back up, taking my helm from my spear. "But you're no use to me as a hostage."

"Ser, please…"

"Rip his fucking heart out, Sandwolf!" Hura spurred me on.

"I'd sooner not kill a boy, either," I said to Hura. I turned back to Florian, "I would have you travel North for me. To King's Landing. Swear to me that you will deliver a message for me."

"What message, Ser?"

"Tell this Ser Mikal Drake that I am coming for him. That I will slaughter every man that stands between him and I. He has offended House Dayne twice already, and he pisses on my name as long as he holds the blade Dawn. Tell him that if he will not come South, then I shall carve my way to the Iron Throne."

"Yes, Ser. I swear I shall carry this message, upon my honour. I shall not sleep until I speak these words to Ser Mikal."

"Good." I smiled, then picked up my spear, watching him. "Off you go, then."

The Tyrell boy slowly rose to his feet, looking around at my Desert Dogs, who bared their teeth at the Lord. He continued walking – the only Reachman alive, standing on his own two legs.

"It's a sign of weakness, Vorian," Dunstan informed me, "letting him go. This is war, not a vendetta."

"You're wrong, Dunstan." My eyes followed Florian Tyrell. "They are one and the same."

 **Rolan Mormont – Bear Island, The North**

The doors opened, and in walked Derrick. My boy. He was a man now, with his mother's red hair, tied into a braid that reached his waist. He was missing a notch from the top of his ear and scars riddled his face: his lip was split twice, his brow torn. But, beneath all the misshapen wounds and scars, I could see my son there.

"Derrick." I waited to hear his voice.

"Father." His voice was deeper. He spoke with a certain Eastern flair to his accent, but he was still a Northerner, that much was clear.

"You're taller," I said as I moved around the table, looking up at him, "and you wear your hair like a damned woman."

"Is that an issue?" Derrick raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lip pulling up into a smirk.

"You've not changed." I rested a wrist on the hilt of Longclaw. "Do you remember Bennard's last words to you?"

"I do, father."

"So, you've returned to hang as a common murderer? Or you heard of his passing?"

"I heard that Alvar Bolton is now Warden of the North. I heard Raff Bolton is Lord of Winterfell after killing Markas Stark at the Dreadfort."

"What?" I removed my hand from Longclaw. "Markas Stark has not been killed."

"Ichabod Cerwyn told us he fell at the Dreadfort."

I furrowed my brow. "Raff Bolton holds him in the Winterfell dungeons. He's a hostage, used to compel other Houses into bending the knee."

My son's eyes fell on the chair next to mine. The chair he used to sit in near twenty years ago. He quickly shook his head and focused on me again. "We ride to re-take Winterfell within the week."

"We?"

"While in exile, I commanded a sellsword company. The Second Sons."

I let out a shallow breath – the Derrick that had been sent away was hot-headed and obsessed with glory and war. Now, to find out he'd not only given up his want of glory and replaced it with greed? "I'm afraid there's little honour in selling one's sword."

"I know, father, I know. Lord Cerwyn has devoted his forces to our efforts."

"Cerwyn? And how did he find you?"

"Evelyn Stark brought him to us."

"Little Evie?" I straightened up. "She lives?"

"Aye, she lives."

I let out a small chuckle of relief. "Thank the Gods… I'd heard Storm's End had fallen. At least one of them survives…"

"Her half-brother has returned also. He's actually… well, he's the one who brought me here."

Evie's half-brother? I cast my mind back to the small dark-eyed babe, squalling and cooing at all that looked at him. He turned into a smirking and boastful boy who'd been around Derrick's age before Ben Stark sent him away. "Finn Snow has returned also?"

"You've met him, then?"

"Of course. I was with Ben Stark when we returned North from the Ironborn Raids. I bid him give me the boy to raise as a ward here on Bear Island."

"Father," Derrick swept a hand through his hair, "I've not come to reminisce. I need the Mormont banners."

I bit my lip. Derrick was certainly more even-tempered than I remembered. Back two decades, he'd storm about and scream to the sky above for me to do whatever he wants. Now… well, what son truly changes around his father? At least Derrick had mellowed with age, as is so often the way with boys.

"You and Snow, you're exiles in the eyes of the law."

"We are."

"And you know the punishment of return is death?"

Derrick held out his arms cocking his head to the side. "Yet here I stand."

Hearing him utter these words, seeing his mother's fire-kissed hair, the same brown eyes as mine. His, piercing and light, yet to be dulled and darkened by life like mine. I placed my hand on his shoulder, watching my son tower a head above me. "Here we stand."

 **Oroville Tyrell** **– The Red Keep, King's Landing, The Crownlands**

The damned fucking whoreson! I stormed past the table, knocking over the gilded jar of Arbor gold.

"I'll have his fucking head!"  
"Calm, husband."

"Don't you command me, woman…"

"Men have mistresses. Kings, most of all. As long as he fathers no bastards…"

"I ought march my men over to Dragonstone and offer assistance to the Targaryen girl…" I caught sight of my manservant, Petyr, whose eyes remained firmly on the ground. "Are you deaf, blind or simple, boy? The wine is spilt – fetch me some more!" Petyr bowed his head before scurrying away as my servants so often did. I turned back to Elecia, who even know was poised and courteous. My darling Delyth, the prize rose of Highgarden was so much like her. Unlike my unruly Ashriel, who'd inherited my thorns.

The sheer arrogance of wedding one daughter and bedding the other… I'd not been subjected to such arrogance or disgrace before in my life. And if Ashriel was to birth a bastard? King or not, Targaryen or not, I'd not have the insult thrust upon me and my House.

"Where's my blade? Petyr!" I called for the boy, who was elsewhere as fucking usual. "Damned simpleton… I'll fetch my longsword myself…"

"Oroville? Husband? You're forgetting yourself."

"The disgrace he's thrust on us? Not to mention the Northern bitch…"

"Theadosia Bolton must be gone." I placed a hand on his arm. "You and I are of the same mind on this, husband. But drawing steel and demanding justice has never worked in the Seven Kingdoms before. Keep your blades for battle, My Lord, and allow this my touch."

"You'll rid us of the Bolton whore?"

"Not in the manner you think. Not poison or assassins… I shall talk to her."

"I've heard talk she's a witch. Prays to demons and dark gods to bewitch the minds of men. That she feeds off flayed men in her bedchambers."

"She's not a witch. Nor is she a demon or a myth. She's a woman. I shall talk to her, husband. And if she refuses… perhaps there will be other means to dispatch her."

At that moment, the door opened, and Petyr entered once more, holding another gilded jug. "The wine you asked for, My Lord."

"I know I asked for it, boy. Are you saying I don't know my own mind?"

The blonde-haired boy began blathering in response.

"Out, damn you!" I shouted, "Out with you, boy!"

 **I'm really trying to hammer them out lately. What is this, the third chapter in 4 days or something? Anyway, it's a shorter chapter, I know, but as you can tell it's more of a set-up chapter than anything else. However the chapter after the next will probably be quite meaty. Speaking of the next chapter, it's called '** _ **Traitors**_ **', and is set in the North, and… well, actually it's just set in the North.**

 **Oh, so, as I said at some point (I think), this is a 4-Part saga, but I was thinking – who would be up for seeing a little prequel about this? Let me know.**

 **I'll see you guys next time. Remember to leave a review because like… support is nice, and I like to hear what you guys think.**

 **R.**


	17. Traitors

**Someone recently pointed out that I started writing this SYOC about a time period where the Targaryens were reigning, and now everyone else is doing it and… well, as much as I would love to call myself a trendsetter, the first person to do it was actually** _ **ColdWindsRising**_ **with their SYOC** _ **Reign of Dragons**_ **. Man, that was a great story – sadly got discontinued (I'm still re-reading it though). But yeah – I think they're the one who started the trend, so props to them.**

 **Anyway, enjoy Chapter 17: '** _ **Traitors**_ **'.**

 **Lorra Reed – Castle Cerywn, The North**

I'd not visited Castle Cerwyn before. I'd seen it once before – when my father took me with him to Winterfell a decade or so ago. Even now, I could make it out. Half a day's ride away. The stronghold of the North, seat of House Stark.

Castle Cerwyn, on the other hand, was like a babe. A long tower on the corner of the keep's courtyard. Still, it was more than Greywater Reach. But out here, men needed the thick stone walls to protect themselves. But the Neck – that _was_ our protection. The swamps and mists that unwelcomed Southnors, the biting rain that spat on their faces… The North protected us from foreign invaders.

What a shame it hadn't protected us from each other.

I rode on with my men towards the many tents that were pitched outside Castle Cerwyn. My banners flew proudly – Blackmyre and Boggs, Cray and Quagg Greengood and Peat. A little less than a thousand of us, Crannogfolk were not many, nor were we strong, but we were loyal. Unlike most other Northerners, who swore by their hearth and name, we swore by the Old Gods. By dirt and water and salt.

I trotted along on my grey-speckled steed until we saw the soldiers stand. One of them, a man I didn't recognize, strode towards me. He was heavy, with a brown beard that covered his throat. His left cheek was notably broken, caved in slightly. The left corner of his lip sagged down slightly, as did his eyelid. He gave a smile as his eyes fell on me.

"Lady Lorra," The man spoke in a deep voice.

"Have I met you, My Lord?"

"Some years ago." He nodded. "Rolan of House Mormont. Lord of Bear Island."

I bowed my head in response and dismounted my horse. I dipped my hand into my cloak and produced the small ravenscroll.

"Finn Snow requested I bring my men to him in aid to re-take Winterfell."

Rolan took the ravenscroll from me, dancing his eyes across it. "How many men do you have?"

"Nine hundred at my last count."

"Nine hundred…" The Old Bear rubbed his dented cheek, "Well… the more, the merrier. Tell your men to break camp. I'll introduce you."

I looked back to my men. Lord Fenn, who was still mounted. "Break camp. Assign the men to wherever they're needed."

Fenn responded with a nod. I began following Mormont through the camp. Several siege ladders were being hammered and bound together, a handful of stag were being turned on spits over flames, men sat around fires, drinking ale and playing dice.

"Why are we not besieging Winterfell?" I asked Rolan.

"Don't let this castle fool you; We've not got the men for a proper siege of Winterfell."

"But you're not planning for a pitched battle." I frowned. "I'm seeing siege ladders…"

"Aye. We're planning a frontal assault."

"On Winterfell?" I narrowed my eyes. "That's suicide."

"Not quite…" Rolan led me to a slightly larger tent, holding the flap up. I dipped my head and ducked inside.

Standing behind a table adorned with a map and wooden wolves, lizards and flayed men were three figures. Standing on the left was a red-haired man, dressed in brown and red leathers like some sort of patchwork doll, with a braid that I could see hanging to his waist. He had light brown eyes that glinted up at me as he took a drink from his horn of ale.

Next to this man, in the middle, was a far younger man. He would have been the same age as my brother, Domeric – perhaps slightly younger. He dressed similarly to him – a dark leather brigandine that fell to his knees over a grey woollen gambeson.

His dark brown hair was tied back, his pale sharp face looking up from the map as he straightened up. His eyes were dark – far darker than anything else I'd seen before. Like

On the right was a woman who couldn't have been younger than me. Her hair was a light blonde tone – far lighter than my brown hair. Her locks fell just above her soft grey eyes – the softest feature of her – her face was hard and shaped like sharp stone.

"Lady Lorra of House Reed," Rolan introduced me, "she's brought the crannogmen to aid us."

"Lady Lorra." The man on the left bowed his head, walking around to pour me a horn of ale.

"Allow me to introduce my son," Rolan held out a hand, "Ser Derrick Mormont."

"Ser Derrick," I gripped his forearm in greeting.

"My Lady," The woman spoke, "I am Evalyn Stark."

"I'm sorry to hear about your brother," I bit my lip, "I never met him, but my own brother was with him at the Dreadfort. As was my father."

"These are dark days, Lady Lorra," Evalyn Stark nodded, "but once Winterfell is back in our grasp, these days shall surely end."

"How many men did you bring?" The man at the table, who I presumed to be Finn Snow, asked me.

"Nine hundred."

He gave a short nod, then let out a flurry of foreign words to Ser Derrick, who walked towards the table, picking up the wooden lizards and moving them, pointing to areas on a map.

"Come, My Lady," Evalyn linked an arm around mine, "it's been so long since I've had another woman for company."

Finn Snow's head jerked up towards Evalyn. His dark eyes lingered on the woman for more than a moment before flickering towards me. It was only when Ser Derrick repeated the same foreign words to him for a second time that Finn turned back to the map.

I strolled along the camp with Evalyn. I'd not really been taught how to act with proper Ladies. I felt out of sorts in my breeches and light boiled leathers, a short sword swinging at my hip. Lady Evalyn was dressed in a fine woollen dress, a grey direwolf stitched to the chest of light green.

"The last time I saw it," Evalyn said, looking over the hills, "Winterfell was still smouldering."

"The Boltons will pay, My Lady. I promise you this."

"I know." Lady Evalyn removed her arm from mine. "As soon as we reclaim Winterfell, Houses Hornwood, Manderly… maybe even Flint – they'll all rally to us. And then we'll march on the Dreadfort."

"And House Stark will rule the North once again."

"I wed a Baratheon," Evie said as she turned back to me, "though you see me as a Stark, I doubt everyone will."

"Those who don't will be Oathbreakers. You are the last Stark of Winterfell. The last true Warden of the North."

Evalyn nodded. "I know this." She turned back to the hills. It must've felt awful. To be so close to her home with an army at her back, but being unable to see it. She must've felt like she could reach out and touch the home that was in her distant memories.

 **Lyra Bolton – Winterfell, The North**

Watching Raff walk around the courtyard filled me with dread. The man shorn of hair – the Iron Flayer, I'd heard the guards whisper. Keeping Haylise in the dungeons… how would I be able to free her?

I thought back to those years I'd spent with her in Storm's End. She'd never just been My Lady. No, she was more than a friend also. She was my family. My father had cast me out for adorning breeches and trying to hold a sword as a man. Haylise had been scorned and ridiculed for losing her maidenhead - to a common man from the Riverlands, no less. In the throes of being cast out, I'd found her, and she'd found me.

Gods curse Aeron for tearing us apart. And curse the Gods for throwing us together in such a cruel embrace once again.

My hand pressed against my belly. I hadn't bled for weeks – weeks beyond when I should have. The idea of Raff's child growing inside me – that I may one day hold his babe at my breast. It filled me with dread and lamentation. Was this how my father felt about me when he cast me out of Casterly Rock? Or when he sent me here to marry Raff Bolton?

In the courtyard, the gates opened, and a battalion of men marched inside. I leant against the wooden railing, craning my neck to see as best as I could. Luckily for me, Raff was anything but quiet.

"Lord Balien Flint." Raff bowed in a deep and mocking way. "Still unwed?"

"Your sister is still yet to return from King's Landing, My Lord."

"I'm sure she's found some way to amuse herself. Until she returns, can I entertain you with someone else? There's a Whitehill lass here that is… well-"

"Forgive me, My Lord, but I come on orders of your father."

Raff's jaw clenched and his smile faded. "My father?"

"He bid me bring forth soldiers so you may better man the walls."

"And why would I need to?"

"A patrol from Barrowtown reported seeing movement of troops from the Neck marching North. Your father wanted to make sure you have enough resources to hold your keep."

I noticed the old Maester pass me, hobbling with a series of scrolls. I turned back to the spiral, hearing the distant crowing of ravens. I cast my mind back to Haylise in the dungeons. Visenya… she'd come to save her, no doubt.

I didn't take a second to think. I remembered Raff pressing his torch to Haylise's hand down in dungeons. Haylise was a Targaryen by law – Rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And Raff would burn for what he had done.

I came to the top of the tower, where I grabbed a roll of parchment, dipping a raven-feathered quill into the inkpot and beginning to write.

 _To Visenya Targaryen, My Rightful Princess of the Seven Kingdoms,_

 _I am Lyra of House Lannister, wed to Raff of House Bolton, Lord of Winterfell. I have discovered that, in his dungeons, he keeps Haylise of House Baratheon. I served her for a great many years, and I beg you for help._

 _Lyra Lannister, Lady of Winterfell_.

I rolled up the parchment and looked to the scrawled parchment on the crow cages until I saw one that read ' _Dragonstone_ '. I opened the cage, grabbing the crow with one hand and tucking the parchment into the crow's leg with the other. I looked at the crow's black eyes.

"Dragonstone," I said clearly, "Dragonstone, yes?"

It let out a simple caw in response.

"I suppose that shall have to do…" I said as I released the crow, allowing it to flutter it's wings and soar South.

 **Julian – Castle Black, The Wall, The North**

It'd only been a day and a night that I was confined to quarters. The night after, I had been given a new cloak and leathers and sent atop the Wall for watch like a Steward or a Builder. It seemed that having thoughts of my own and disagreeing with that decrepit fool of a Lord Commander was a quality they did not look for in Rangers.

I looked down at the treelines below like mud in the snow. I pulled my cloak further around my body as I walked back to the torches, lighting them from the brazier when they went out. Perhaps I would've been better off down South. Maybe if I had gone to Oldtown, I would've found my uncle Riler. Then maybe we would've been able to leave this gods-forsaken mess behind us.

"Julian."

I turned around to see Wyllis standing there, his eyes studying my reaction. I knew for a fact my face didn't change, because I was so caught up in my thoughts of what had happened beyond the Wall to fully remember how our mission had ended.

"Kenn Stark ordered me to take watch with you."

I gave a nod in response and allowed him to stand next to me, placing his gloved hands over the brazier of crackling fire.

"We ride out tomorrow in force," Will informed me, "the Lord Commander wants us to find the other horns."

I let out a scoff. "That's why I'm being kept here, then?"

"You looked as if you were ready to murder him there, Julian. As if you'd lost your mind."

"He's to blame for that. He made me a murderer the day he sent us beyond the Wall." I turned to him. "You were there, Will. You saw everything that the Ice Dragon did. How can you think he's right to do this?"

"Because they're Wildlings, Julian!" A silence followed as our eyes both fell on the brazier, watching the dancing flames that warmed us this high up. "I would never have left you, you know," He said finally, "If I actually knew you were still alive."

"But you did." I looked up to him. "You left me when I called you to help."

"What would you've done?"

"I would've tried to help them."

"Help a wildling? They're barbarians, Julian."

"Back in King's Landing, my cousin and I were called rats. Only we weren't lucky enough to have a wall to keep us in our place…"

"It's not the same thing Julian. They're… they eat babes at birth and lay with goats! Still pray to giants and Wight Walkers." I walked closer to the brazier, putting my own gloved hands over the fire.

"What tales do you think they tell of us?" Could they even tell us apart? We all dressed in black, and I doubt any of us had been close for long enough for them to distinguish us as different men. A murder of crows sitting atop our Wall. "How many of them have you killed?"

Will raised a hairy eyebrow, "Almost as many that have tried to kill me."

I opened my mouth to respond, only to hear a loud, long blast. I turned back to face the edge of the Wall, looking for specks of black. Except there weren't any. Instead, I saw plumes of black smoke from the shifting tree lines.

There was another long blast of the horn. It was then that I realized: it wasn't the treeline that was changing – it was the battle formations.

"Wildlings…" Will said, taking a step to peer over the wall as well. He turned to me, grabbing my cloak with one hand. "You know why they're here, Julian? They've come to kill us. Settle any qualms you have, because we are your brothers."

I pushed Will's arm off of me and took a step backwards. "I know who my brothers are!"

"Good. Because you don't have to like us. All you need to know is that we're on this side of the Wall, and they're on that side."

 **I really wanted to write another 'all female narrators' chapter since I didn't do anything for International Woman's Day but… yeah, one of the POV's is at Castle Black so there isn't much getting around that, sadly. Kinda bummed me out a bit.**

 **Thank you, thank you, thank you for the influx of reviews – that's kinda what pushed me to write this chapter. Gotta keep up with the pace, you know? So, please say what you think. Feel free to send in a character – suggest a Game of Thrones / Ice and Fire story to check out if you're writing one.**

 **This next chapter is one I've envisioned for like… what, a year and a half? More? Man, that makes me feel old… The next chapter is called '** _ **The War in the North**_ **' and takes place entirely at Winterfell.**

 **R.**

 **p.s. Also, are you guys happy with the length of these chapters? Because they're easier to churn out at 3000 words when I'm juggling coursework. I don't mind writing longer ones, they're just a bit more time consuming. Lemme know.**


	18. The War in the North

**So guys… damn, it's been a long time coming, but this is what I love most about SYOC's. Seeing all the characters you've created come together and meet each other. So… enjoy:**

 **Raff Bolton – Winterfell, The North**

I traced a finger across the long bruises on Katya's thighs. I recognized the shapes all too well – they were of my mother's cane. The mad old crone. How many servants had died because of her? At least have the courtesy to clean up once you're finished… Instead, I had her in my bed once again, examining the stains on her skin as if they were contours of a map. She winced slightly as I pressed down on the purple bruises. It made me smile – she so rarely showed any emotion.

Before I could press it again, my door knocked rapidly and creaked open.

"Forgive me, My Lord, I wasn't aware…"

"Tell me why you're here before I slit your throat," I kept my eyes on Katya's back, which was riddled with numerous scrapes. No doubt the handle of my mother's cane…

"There's… well, My Lord… there's an army outside."

I slowly looked up from Katya's swollen body, unable to fight the curling of my lips. "An army, you say?" I turned around and exited my bed, grabbing my breeches from a chair and tugging them on. "Boots." The soldier did as I bid, fetching them from the foot of the bed. I began pulling them on, rubbing one of my eyes as I looked at the guard. "Have they sent word to parley?"

"A group of riders are waiting outside the castle."

With a breath, I grabbed my shirt and flung it over my head. "And why are they still alive?"

"Well… My Lord, we didn't know if you wished to speak to them and…" I stomped my foot on the ground, leaning past the guard to grab the greatsword, Ice. "… And they're waiting beyond the range of our archers."

I rubbed my eye and sighed, taking my pleated jerkin and threading my arms through the holes.

"I have to do everything myself, don't I?" I turned back to Katya. "I want you gone by the time I'm back," I said with a slap on her arse before I fastened my swordbelt around my waist, "my wife must be jealous."

Out on the battlements, I was greeted to the sight of what was, indeed, an army. Five thousand, maybe more. I examined the banners as best I could: Mormont, Reed, Cerwyn – all the houses that had yet to bend the knee. All except one. A banner I thought would've been burnt with the razing of Winterfell.

And Stark.

I tried my best to contain the giggles in my throat. It seemed the wild little Tylan must've survived. Or, perhaps, one of the other Northern houses were claiming they had Tylan. I looked around to see Lord Bailen standing there in the blue colours of his house, narrowing his green eyes. He turned to face me, his mouth thin and eyes full of dread.

"Cheer up Bailen." I walked over to him, slapping his shoulder. "Today's turning into quite an interesting day!"

 **Evie Stark – Winterfell, The North**

It'd been months since I'd been here. The Boltons had already made substantial repairs. The towers were being rebuilt, the rubble pushed up into the large cavern of the castle wall, along with wooden frames and freshly-cut slabs of stone.

They had no right to rebuild our home. It should've been us doing that – it should've been me. They'd destroy Winterfell with their rebuilding – it'd become an eyesore on the Northern plains, just like the Dreadfort. Winterfell was not a seat for Bolton reign, it was a symbol for the Northern Houses to unite behind.

I had a cloak like mother. Wolf's fur and long, resting heavy on my shoulders. I looked over to Finn, who wore a cloak similar enough – nowhere near as fine as mine, though. He reminded me of Father in his final days – dressed in a brigandine with a steel gorget clasped around his neck. A strange curved longsword at his waist.

Finn must've noticed me looking at him, because he took this moment to speak.

"You shouldn't be here." The gates open in the distance, and a battalion of men sullied outside. My horse began to stir, but I rubbed her side. "You can still go back," Finn said quietly.

"I have every right to be here," I replied as firmly as I could. I steeled my throat and my mind. No, it wasn't steel… it was stone. I was the daughter of the Stone Wolf, Margareth Stark. And I would not run home at the sight of Raff Bolton.

The Bolton men carried another banner – the eyes of House Flint. They stopped a while back, and a handful men trotted forwards on their horses.

"Take me with you Snow," Lord Rolan growled, "I'll shove my sword through the boy's throat if he draws steel."

"I need you to command the Mormont troops," Finn replied.

"I'll come," Mikko replied in a grunt from beside me, where he was mounted on a dark warhorse.

"No," Finn said as he looked over to Mikko, " _Mīsagon zirȳla_."

Mikko looked over to me and then nodded, clenched the reigns of his horse. A hand drifted over to the hilt of his arakh. Finn gave a short nod and began to walk his horse forwards. I looked over to Ser Derrick, then to Lady Lorra.

"Is no-one going with him?"

"He's right," Lord Rolan said, gritting his teeth, "He's a Snow. No line to carry on, no armies sworn to serve him…"

"He's my brother!" I slapped my legs against the side of my horse and cantered over to follow Finn's trail.

"Evie!" Mikko hissed. With a curse in a foreign, guttural tongue, he held a hand out to the others and cantered after me. I caught up beside Finn in a matter of seconds. I'd never seen Raff Bolton before, but I'd heard the stories of him. Shorn of hair, flint-grey eyes. It was strange seeing him – and not just because he was adorned in the clothing of an ironborn. No, his eyes settled on Mikko and his teeth showed as he gave a smile.

"My, you _do_ look cold…" Raff said in a smooth and smiling voice. "Not Northerners, I presume." Raff leant back on his horse, and I knew Finn saw the same thing I did: Father's sword was strapped to his waist. I looked over to Finn, whose hand curled into a fist around the reigns of his horse.

"Well." Raff paused to clear his throat. "The army's got my attention. But… I mean, I presume you've come for a reason."

I wasn't sure what I was going to say. Introduce myself, perhaps? Threaten him? Tell him the Houses that had sworn to serve me? I opened my mouth, but Finn spoke first.

"Come out of my home."

" _Your_ home?" Raff frowned, looking over his shoulder and examining Winterfell before turning back to us. "No… no, those are my banners, I'm fairly sure."

"I won't ask again," Finn replied curtly. Raff pointed a finger at him.

"You seem a tad too old to be Tylan, and a tad too bearded for Lady Evalyn… unless…" Raff whistled as he moved his finger to point at me. "Lady Stark, I presume? Sorry, Lady Baratheon now, isn't it?" He let out a chortle as he leant forwards on his horse, "My, my, my, don't you look ravishing? Not at all like the rest of the Starks… though, to be fair, they're in several pieces now."

I flickered my eyes over to Finn. He was still silent, but I noticed his arm shift so it was resting on the hilt of his longsword. I would follow his example. I stayed quiet, resting my eyes on Raff, who let out a huff of air.

"Well, this is a riveting conversation…" Raff wiped a gloved hand over his bare head. "Allow me to introduce myself, Lady Baratheon. I am Raff Bolton, Lord of Winterfell, son and heir of Alvar Bolton, Warden of the North."

"You killed my brother," Finn said finally, eyes unblinking and unmoving from Raff, who formed a confused smile.

"You're going to have to be a bit more specific…" He let out a shy chuckle. "I've killed a _lot_ of brothers."

"Markas Stark," I spoke first, "Lord of Winterfell and Rightful Warden of the North."

"Markas Stark?" Raff's face crumpled in amusement as he looked to the blue-garmented Lord beside him. "No, he's still alive and in one piece… mostly, anyway."

My eyes widened as I looked over to Finn, whose face stayed as still as stone. I looked back to Raff. Was this one of his sick games I'd heard of?

"You're lying," Finn stated coldly.

"Look." Raff hung his head and sighed. "I've killed more people than you'll ever meet. But in this… rare instance, I'm telling the truth. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New." I checked Finn's face for a reaction. He didn't move, however, but I did notice his fist unclench on the reigns of his horse. "Ooh, you didn't expect that, did you?" Raff asked with a smirk.

"I want to see him!" I insisted, but Raff shushed me and held up a finger.

"The men are talking," He said, cocking his head to the side as he examined Finn some more. "We've met, no?"

"I'd have killed you."

Raff let out a genuine chuckle as if Finn was joking. "I'm sure you may've tried but… Wait…" He turned to the Lord beside him, beaming widely as he turned back to Finn, holding out a hand. "Finn Snow? You are him, aren't you? Ben Stark's bastard?" Finn's fist clenched again as Raff began cackling. "Well, this is _quite_ the homecoming… I wish I'd been told beforehand!" Raff looked out at the encampment behind us. "I feel like I should return the favour for this gift!"

It was strange – I couldn't tell if Raff Bolton was trying to intimidate us or if he was truly mad. From the scars on his head and the glint in his eye as he examined the battle, I firmly believed it was the latter.

"Aren't you nervous?" Raff asked suddenly, "That you might… you know…?" He sliced a finger across his neck.

"I've fought far worse men than you, Raff."

"Oh," Raff let out another giggle, "I know. I've heard a lot of stories about you, Bastard. My sister is so very fond of them… the Black Wolf… the way you fought at the tourney of Riverrun, it's as though you were Brandon the Breaker reborn!" He took a moment to finish laughing, leaning back and taking an aching breath. "I confess, I'm something of an admirer."

Finn's fist remained open, his jaw clenched as he looked over to Winterfell in the distance. "Are you refusing to relinquish your claim to Winterfell?"

Raff rolled his eyes, looking to the army once again. "Come, Bastard, I killed your father. What's left of your brother is in my dungeons. Your whore sister is a Baratheon, and your wild little brother is nowhere to be found. Your mother- I mean, Lady Stark was fed to the hounds…"

I must've made a noise, because Raff turned to look at me, much like a wolf would when it smelled wounded prey. He grinned from ear-to-ear and cocked his head to the side.

"You didn't know this, did you, little Evie?" He crooned softly. "I found her body when I took this castle as my own. The hounds… they'd never tasted Stark flesh before. I think they rather developed a taste for it…"

"Leave my sister alone," Finn snarled. Raff simply laughed.

"It's time you realize, Bastard, that your father's House is gone. The name Stark is a memory in the North. The War in the North is over. House Bolton prevailed."

"As long as I draw breath," Finn hissed, "this war is not over."

Raff stared at Finn, no smirk or giggle. For a moment, his face was blank and his horse took a step back. Raff's light, flint-grey eyes stared into Finn's dark Stark eyes. Then, Raff spoke in a daze.

"I'm looking forward to you. Markas just started whinging at the first cut…"

"Finn," Mikko spoke in a grunt. I looked over to Finn, seeing his fist clench tightly around his reigns, edging closer to the hilt of his blade.

"No fun in breaking him," Raff continued, "no sport. I think you're going to be more a challenge… must be the Bolton blood in you."

Finn's swordhand stopped shaking, and in that moment, he spoke softly to Raff. No anger or menace in his voice. It was calm – sapped of all emotion.

"I'm going to kill you tomorrow." Finn turned his horse around, "And if you touch a hair on my brother's head, I swear it'll be more painful than anything a Bolton's blade has ever known."

Raff bowed his head and grinned. "I look forward to it, Bastard."

 **Yeah, it's a short chapter. I figured this deserved it's own chapter because… well, someone said waaaaay back about how they wanted Finn and Raff to encounter each other and… well, here it is. Anyhoo, let me know what you thought of this mini-chapter.**

 **Next chapter will take place in Winterfell and Dragonstone. I'm not sure when I'll be uploading it since, well, it's gonna be a pretty big chapter. Not big as in long, just that… stuff happens. Anyway, it's called '** _ **In the Dead of Night**_ **'… maybe. I don't know, I kinda come up with these names on the fly most of the time.**


	19. In the Dead of Night

**Apologies for the day's delay – but here's the reason why. The longest chapter of this instalment so far.**

 **Someone wanted some more Corlys so… enjoy.**

 **Corlys Velaryon – Dragonstone, The Crownlands**

The long stone corridors bled with the pink light of the setting sun. I leant my gloved hand over the hilt of my blade. The mark beneath the scar was a reminder that, despite how much I may have wanted to be, I was not a Targaryen. After all, fire cannot burn a dragon.

Lord Maegar Celtigar and I were related in the same way we were related to the Targaryens. We were of Valyrian descent. Though, of course, Lord Maegar had wed a Targaryen. A barren one that was not nearly half as beautiful as her sister, Vysella, but still, she had been a Targaryen.

I'd always wondered why Rhaegon and Vysella did not burn the Iron Islands. After a Targaryen died on the Iron Islands… I thought Rhaegon would've burnt all who called themselves Ironborn for following the Greyjoys into battle. I suppose Vysella must have persuaded him otherwise. That, or Rhaegon did not really care about his younger sister.

Either way, Lord Celtigar was overjoyed. After the Siege of Dragonstone, his royal wife was dead, allowing him to find a new one – one able to bear him children.

I opened the door to the war room and followed Lord Maegar inside. Our King, Viserys, was sat in front of the table, two fingers resting against his temples as his other hand drummed rapidly on the wooden arm of his chair. Visenya, on the other hand, leant against the table, her pale gold hair sparkling in the setting sun, her lilac eyes settling on me as I entered the room with a polite smile. I'd seen her astride her dragon, SunFyre, so I knew she was as a God to someone like me, but I couldn't help but find her delicate.

"…With the combined strength of the Riverland and the Vale of Arryn, we can march South unopposed," Viserys said. I thought he would've sounded happy, or excited, but he sounded frustrated. Incredibly frustrated.

"The Lannister armies are the best equipped in the Seven Kingdoms," Visenya responded, turning her almond eyes back to her twin, "perhaps even more so than the Royal army. And, since Lucian serves as the Hand of the King, I doubt we have much chance of bringing him to the table…"

"Damn Lucian Lannister." Viserys rose to his feet. "King's Landing has more than enough supplies to see them through the next Winter…" Viserys sighed, hanging his head as his violet eyes studied the wooden crabs and seahorses stacked around Dragonstone, then to the falcons and trout further North. A moment later, he picked one up and launched it across the table with a grunt. The wooden dragon landed against the wall and cracked in two. "I need more men…" Viserys muttered to himself.

"What about the Dornish?" Visenya placed a hand on Viserys' shoulder. "They're harassing from the South already…"

"So then there's no need to ally with them," Lord Celtigar pointed out, "let them fight Reachmen, but don't approach those who lay with boys…"

Viserys slowly turned his head to face Lord Celtigar as he stood up, taking a step forwards. "Ser Richard Dayne was from Starfall. He was my friend." Viserys pointed a finger at Lord Celtigar. "Insult him again, and I'll forget you married my aunt Eraela."

"All the Kingdoms support either you or Aeron." I walked forwards, examining the map once again. I pointed to the Iron Islands, "The Greyjoys are in no position to aid you or Aeron-"

"I doubt they would if they could," Visenya pointed out.

"And I can't imagine the Dornish would march North…" I paused, looking at the far end of the table, past Visenya. The largest kingdom of all. I walked towards it. "What about the North?"

"Not this again…" Visenya rolled her eyes.

"The Northmen are all simple and brutish!" Lord Celtigar laughed at me. "They curse the name Targaryen. Use your head, boy."

"Your Grace!" We all looked up to see the straw-haired man stride into the war room.

"Maester Vickon?" Viserys furrowed his brow at the old man's impertinence.

"Forgive me, Your Grace, but a raven arrived from Winterfell."

Viserys looked to me, eyebrow raised as he cautiously took the ravenscroll, unfurling it.

"What does it say?" Lord Celtigar tried to peer around the table. Viserys cast him a look before taking a breath. Viserys looked up to Visenya.

"It's addressed to you."

Visenya's face turned from puzzled to sympathetic in a blink. Of course – Viserys was seen to be dead by half the Realm. There was no reason for the North to know Viserys had survived Storm's End. Visenya took the ravenscroll.

"I am Lyra of House Lannister," Visenya read aloud, "wed to Raff of House Bolton, Lord of Winterfell. I have discovered that, in his dungeon, he keeps Haylise…" Visenya looked up to Viserys with Lord Celtigar and I.

Viserys was stunned. There was no recognition on his face. He didn't breathe, he didn't blink. He just sat there, staring at the carved map in front of him.

"It's a trap," Lord Celtigar said, "it has to be."

"What do you mean?" I frowned.

"Winterfell was razed on Aeron's orders. The Boltons have clearly prospered from this – what if this is a ploy?"

"He's right." Visenya nodded. "Viserys, we need to be smart about this…"

"I'm not abandoning my wife!"

"During the Ironborn raids, Vysella and her sister were trapped on Dragonstone," I appealed to Viserys, "Your father didn't ride his dragon there for fear of dying on a fool's errand. Your aunt Eraela died because of this…"

"Yes, yes, yes." Lord Celtigar rolled his eyes. "Vysella was noble and wise and defended her people so they could defend her, filled with valour and so on and so on." Celtigar faced Viserys. "Your father defeated the Ironborn. Your life is too valuable. I know that losing a wife can be… difficult, but-"

"Then you understand why I have to go?" Viserys clenched his jaw as he turned to face his sister. "Visenya, if there's even a chance that Haylise is alive, I have to help her."

"Think this through. Now is not the time for your boldness – we need to be smart…"

"I am sick of being smart," Viserys muttered before he left the room to storm back towards his quarters.

 **Evalyn Stark –Stark Encampment, Winterfell, The North**

We were all huddled together inside Finn's tent. Outside, there were sounds of drinking and merriment, swearing and fists flying. I'd never seen a camp before a battle – I thought the soldiers would pray to the Old Gods and swap stories about their families. I never expected them to play a game which involved of punching each other in the face.

Finn stood at the head of the table, still in his brigandine. Ser Derrick and Mikko stood on the other side, next to Lord Rolan, Lord Ichabod and Lady Lorra. I tried to stand near the table, only there wasn't enough space me, and I wasn't big enough to make space.

"…A hundred men can defend Winterfell from ten thousand," Finn informed them.

"The castle's been sorely damaged, even with our repairs…" Rolan nodded. "But they still have the advantage. Raff will be expecting us to target the weakest section of the wall," Rolan pointed to a part of the map that covered the table.

"So that's exactly what we will do." Finn nodded, taking the wooden and stone units and moving them along the map into formations around one side of Winterfell's layout.

"That's your plan, Snow?" Lord Ichabod huffed, "Charge into battle and take back the castle by force alone? Walk straight into Winterfell and kill everyone in your way?"

Finn wrapped his fist around one stone that had a crudely painted wolf upon it. "We have an advantage too," Finn said with gritted teeth, "Raff doesn't know Winterfell. Evie and I grew up there. In the crypts, there's a tunnel that runs under the South walls." Finn placed the stone alone inside the castle. "A group small enough can infiltrate the castle and open the gates. And once the gates are open…"

"Their numbers won't stand for shite," Ser Derrick grinned. "Good… good, I like it. How long is this tunnel?"

"Five miles," I answered quickly, "It's like a rabbit burrow down there."

Ser Derrick stroked his chin, "I don't suppose you can draw us a map?" He let out a chuckle.

"We won't need to," Finn responded. Everyone looked at Finn with a frown, but I knew what he was thinking. I knew what he was doing because I knew what Markas would've done.

"You're not being serious?" I asked – genuinely bemused by whether this was one of his bad jokes.

"You and I are the only ones who know the way through that tunnel," Finn replied, "and I'm not sending you down there."

"You're a Commander, not a fucking scout! Mikko," Ser Derrick turned to the silent giant of a man that wrapped himself in furs, "you and I can take some men…"

"You're the Commander of the Second Sons, Redbear." Finn rubbed his eye. "There's no point opening the gates if there isn't an army to storm it."

Ser Derrick moved around the table. "Finn, this is not the time for your bloody antics…" He hissed lowly.

"If you have a better plan, tell me." Finn stood there, studying Ser Derrick study the map, muttering to himself as his eyes flit back and forth.

"Why don't we just send an army through the tunnel?" I asked.

"Tailback." Ser Derrick replied. I furrowed my brow, looking for someone to expand.

Lady Lorra looked over to me. "A chokepoint."

"We'll only be able to go through one or two men at a time," Finn explained to me, "It wouldn't matter if we had ten men or ten thousand."

I nodded and took a step back, watching each of the Commanders mutter quietly to themselves until Ser Derrick straightened up. "You're to take eight of my best swords with you."

"I'm with you." Mikko nodded.

"As am I," Lady Lorra stated. Lord Ichabod and Ser Derrick stifled a grin.

"My Lady," Finn began to speak slowly.

"If you dare say it's because I'm a woman…" Lady Lorra growled.

"You're the Commander of the-"

"The Crannogmen can be led by someone else. I'd wager I'm a better bowman than anyone else in this tent. You could do with that inside." She looked to the other Lords. "My brother Jaran is Lord of the Neck. I'm a Lady – I can't carry on my father's House. If I fall in there, it makes about as much difference as you."

Finn licked his lips and looked over to Ser Derrick who shrugged. Finn turned back to her. "Thank you, My Lady."

Lady Lorra bowed her head to Finn, then to me, and left.

"It's a mad gamble…" Rolan sighed. "I best find some ale," He said before leaving with Lord Ichabod.

"For fuck's sake, Finn," Ser Derrick spoke lowly, "don't do anything stupid."

Mikko moved towards Finn, grabbing his arm and repeating their phrases.

" _Valar Morghulis._ "

" _Valar Dohaeris_."

Mikko and Ser Derrick exited the tent, leaving Finn and I alone together again. Finn sat down behind the map. I could make out his sword arm began shaking violently until he clasped it with his other. He wrapped it quickly around a horn of ale which he drank from.

"This is your great plan, then, is it?" I asked.

"Great? No. But it's the best one we've got," Finn gave me a polite smile.

"And what happens if you get caught inside?"

Finn raised his horn, " _Valar Morghulis_." He took a sip.

"That's Braavosi, isn't it?"  
Finn responded by shaking his head. "Valyrian," he corrected me, "they speak Valyrian in Braavos."

"What does it mean?"

"All men must die," Finn responded, eyes on the candle in front of him as a finger drifted across the cloth-wrapped palm of his swordhand. He wasn't angry. He wasn't telling me how scared he was. It was as though he didn't understand he was going into battle tomorrow. Raff was dangerous – dangerous enough to have killed our father and defeated our brother. Meanwhile Finn was making a plan to take back the castle like a hero from a song.

"You're an idiot," I muttered, "you're a fucking idiot."

Finn turned towards me, a scowl on his face. "Evie!"

"You're being stupid like Markas! Marching in there like you can win this battle single-handedly."

"What are you talking about?"

"Father rode out to fight Finn on the field and died. Markas besieged his castle and lost. Now you want to go into Winterfell with a handful of men? You think you can't lose!"

"You think I will?"

"I think you're being overconfident. You're not thinking about who he is – he was raised as an Ironborn! He's been fighting and killing-"

"Aye, and I've been doing what, sewing dresses?" Finn put his empty horn back on the table and stood up. "Fighting and killing is all I've done since leaving home!"

"We need a better plan!"

"Alright, fine, Evie! Tell me something I don't know from all your time at war- tell me what you would do!"

"I'd wait until we have help!"

"Help from who, Evie?" Finn shouted. I opened my mouth and quickly closed it again. At this moment, seeing him tower above me, bearded and scarred, I didn't want to tell him I'd gone behind his back and contacted Queen Visenya.

"If we just wait, maybe-"

"Wait?" Finn raised his eyebrows. "Our _brother_ is in there! Markas, Evie!"

"Rushing in on a gamble isn't going to save him, Finn," I said, trying to keep my voice level. As Father had always said, when you raise your voice in argument, you lose. Finn shook his head and walked away from me, going to fill up his horn of ale again. I tried to word the flurry of thoughts in my head. "We have to prepare for the worst. We need to start thinking about what happens if… if Markas doesn't make it."

"I'm not listening to this - I need to rest." Finn hung his head and took a breath before looking back up at me. "Tomorrow, Rolan Mormont has arranged for troops to escort you to Bear Island."

"Bear Island?" I took a step back. "You're sending me away?"

"I'm protecting you," Finn insisted. "You're a Stark, Evie, the last Stark, maybe. Your place isn't near a battle…"

"No." I shook my head. "I'm staying here- I'm staying with you!"

"Do you even understand what your life means, Evie?"

"I can take care of myself!"

"And now Rolan can take of you!" Finn pointed towards the exit of the tent to make his point before turning back and drinking from his horn of ale once more. He hung his head down and rubbed his brow.

I knew he wanted to protect me – and I knew that, what with everything that happened in Essos, he didn't mean to shout. But I wasn't little Evie anymore. I was Lady Evalyn Stark. The Houses may have followed his battle strategy, but they were sworn to serve me. They were still mine.

"Finn," I tried to pick the right way to broach a certain subject, "I know that Helesa meant-"

"Evie," Finn growled in response, his swordhand clenched into a fist as he took a breath, "you best pick your next words _very_ carefully."

"I am sorry for what happened to you Finn, but you are not the only one to lose people." I tried to keep my voice steady. "Markas sent me South to keep me safe. Mother sent me to Markas to keep me safe, I came back to Winterfell to be safe- I have lost _everyone_ that has tried to keep me safe." I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Everyone but you, so, don't tell me I'll be safe on Bear Island because the truth is that then I'll just lose you as well."

I waited for him to say something. I managed to keep myself from crying like I would've when I was little Evie. Finn glared at me, jaw clenched and hand balled into a fist. He breathed through his nose and took a step forwards, with his cold rage barely contained in each word.

"You don't know what loss is."

 **Lyra Bolton – Winterfell, The North**

Raff sat with his feet up on the table, eying the Hornwood girl as she served the plates of pork in front of us. He sucked down a mouthful of ale and let out a satisfied sigh, wiping the back of his hand across his scarred mouth.

We had to have our first meal in the earliest hours of dawn. Raff was bubbling with excitement about facing a certain young man.

"Finn Snow?" I frowned. The name was familiar – at least, I was sure I'd heard of a Snow somewhere before.

"Aye… he's just as belligerent as I heard." Raff tore the sizzled skin off his meat. "You'd like him."

"You almost sound fond of him." I said, noticing the Hornwood girl's hand shake as she filled my cup with water.

"It's only in challenging ourselves that we may prove our worth…" Raff said with a modest smile. "After breakfast, I'll tie Markas Stark to the back of a horse and send it galloping. Give Evie Stark her precious brother back…" he scoffed, "Or maybe I'll tie him to the portcullis. Or I'll flay him from the battlements…" He shook his head, "I've not decided yet. Maybe I'll give him to the men and let them have some amusement. At least we won't have any more Snows to deal with!" He let out a rambunctious laugh. I felt my skin turn cold – not because of Raff's laugh, but because the Hornwood girl had spilled the water over my hand.

"Sorry, My Lady, so sorry-" She began patting my hand with a cloth. I grimaced at her. Would I turn into her after a few more years with Raff? Or would I look like the Whitehill girl, all still and statuesque? "I'll fetch more," Alara pardoned herself quickly and scurried away.

"What a strange girl…" Raff shrugged, "as I was saying… I'll kill him. Or, well, someone will."

This impending battle… I was a Bolton now. The daily vomiting into my chamberpot affirmed my fears that I did, indeed, have a Bolton babe growing inside me. An heir to the Iron Flayer. If the Stark forces broke through, what would happen to it? What would happen to me?

"Why not block the gates?" I asked him. "Fill it with stone and rubble as if it were a part of the wall?"

"Because then we can't get out?"

"Yes, but they can't get in. They don't have the men for a siege – you said so yourself. Winter is coming - the Starks never stop howling about it. If they do, by some means, manage to keep a siege for the next few years, Winter will come and wipe them out."

Raff chewed his pork with an open mouth, arrowing his eyes before pointing his knife at me. "Do you think I took Winterfell just to destroy it?" He tapped the side of his shorn head with his knife, "Think, woman." He let out a sigh. "It's times like this where I miss Thea… Ludd!"

I jumped at the sudden shouting of Raff. He didn't pause from eating his dinner, nor did he look angry or even turn his head. But the echoes of his bawling voice echoed through the castle, soon giving way to howling and screeching of my new mother.

At the corner of our hall, the hobbling Maester raised a quivering eyebrow as he emerged from the dark shadows.

"My Lord?" Ludd asked in a broken voice.

"You know I don't like people who sneak."

"Forgive me, My Lord, I did not wish to disturb you…"

Raff leant back in his chair, turning to face the Maester as he chewed his pork. Raff give a little shrug. "Well? Where were you sneaking off to?"

"To find Lady Alara, My Lord." Ludd bowed his head. "A raven came for her." Raff swallowed his food and set his knife and fork down, holding out a hand. "My Lord, to read another's ravens… a Lady's, no less…" Raff wrapped his hand around his knife, and the Maester's words turned into nervous murmurs as he handed the small scroll to Raff.

Raff unrolled the message and skimmed his eyes across it. They grew wide for a moment, and then his lips tore apart into his sickly grin. He looked up to Ludd and then to me. "Excuse me, wife, I need to kill soemone."

Raff stood up, grabbing his knife and letting out a jovial whistle as he left the hall, a spring in his step.

 **Markas Stark – Winterfell, The North**

I awoke to the sound of the iron gate to my cell opening. Through the haze of my vision, I saw a figure enter. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the face by the firelight as it came closer and closer to me.

"My Lord," the girl's voice spoke, "we need to leave."

I recognized the frizzy golden-brown hair, her small and lean frame. Her flint-grey eyes came into focus. The same as Raff's.

"Lady Alara?"

"There's an army outside," Alara informed me as she walked around to the cross, unfastening the leather bindings around my wrists, "Evie Stark and your brother, Finn Snow."

"Evie's alive?" I rasped through my dried and torn throat, "Finn is here? With an army?"

"They attack today. But Raff… he's not going to let you live."

"Raff's not stupid." I shook my head. "He'd never kill me – I'm too valuable alive…"

"Do you really think Raff cares?" Alara unfastened one arm and moved around to the other. "You're the last son of Ben Stark, which makes you a threat to his claim. He doesn't intend on having you leave Winterfell alive!"

My other hand was freed, and I fell forwards towards the ground. Alara managed to catch me, letting out a yelp as she lowered me to my knees. She looked back and began unbuckling the rusted straps from my ankles. Then, we heard something. I looked back to Alara.

"Hurry," I whispered.

"It's rusted!" She hissed back as she began tugging at the metal. We heard the voices get louder, the shadows start to part as firelight flickered along the walls.

"Hurry, Alara!"

"I'm almost there…" She pried the buckle apart and moved to my other ankle. "Just a second…"

"Who opened this gate?" I heard a man call. Not Raff – definitely not.

The figure moved through the open gate – wrapped in a blue surcoat with stitching of eyes upon his chest was a Flint. A Lord, by the looks of the fine castle-forged steel at his hip. His eyes widened and his hand moved towards his hip. I felt my ankle drop to the floor, and I summoned the rest of my strength.

I was a Stark. A Wolf. The True Warden of the North. I had the blood of the First Men in my veins.

I leapt at Bailen, grabbing his wrist and pressing the sword towards his neck. He let out a groan as he tried to push his neck back further and further into the wall behind him. I gritted my teeth let out a strangled yell as I summoned the rest of my spirit and pushed the hilt forwards. Blood sprayed across the dungeons as I dropped the body of the Flint man to the ground. I gripped his sword firmly, leaning against the wall as I panted hard. Alara swept through the dungeon to me and wrapped my arm over her shoulder.

"Someone will've heard that…"

"Let me out!" I heard the shouts from the cell next to mine. Haylise – the Queen. Or, former queen…

"We have to help her…" I groaned.

"There's no point in both of you dying," Alara insisted, dragging me away from Haylise's pleas for help. Alara helped carry me up the spiral staircases until we came to the courtyard. The portcullis was open, as were the gates.

"I thought you said there was a siege?" I frowned to Alara.

"There is," She said as she hoisted me across the courtyard.

"Then why are the gates all open?"

I let out a large gasp as I felt something behind my knee. I looked back to see a black arrow protruding from my leg.

"Good morning," I heard Raff's jovial voice shout, "Where is my sweet sister going with my new pet?"

"Markas," Alara's eyes grew wide as she stumbled backwards. "Markas, we need to go…"

She continued to carry me towards the portcullis. A bell started ringing and Bolton soldiers began sullying out. I felt another arrow skim the side of my torso, followed my Raff's laughs. I felt my weight push more and more onto Alara's body, and she was shrink closer to the ground each time.

"You go," I muttered as we came closer to the portcullis. "Go!"

"My father swore a vow!" Alara grunted.

"Tell my family, tell them I wish I could've seen them again."

Alara paused, and turned back to face me. I cast a look over my shoulder to see the guards sully out in circles, some with horses and spears. I hung my head and sighed.

"Impressive attempt," chortled Raff as he sauntered forwards with his men. "I am… truly impressed. Was that Lord Flint I saw in the dungeons?" I cast my eyes over to the portcullis winch that lay beside me. But, with my leg… how far could I get with them following me? "Alara… there must be more Bolton blood in you than you realized. Or," Raff held up a ravenscroll, "perhaps you did realize?"

"What's that?" Alara asked.

"A message from my father. Saying he wants you to journey to King's Landing with him to meet Aeron Targaryen and ask for legitimacy."

I turned to Alara, eyes full of terror, legs rooted to the ground. But she wasn't scathed like I was. "Alara," I said quietly, "How far do I stand a chance of getting?"

Alara shook her head. "Markas, don't talk like that. You're My Lord- Lord of Winterfell."

"Winterfell is Evie's now." I lay my scarred and flayed hand on her shoulder. "Let me do this for My House."

"Yoo-hoo?" Raff shouted in a falsetto voice from behind me. "Should I nock another arrow?"

"The North Remembers," Alara spoke quietly. I shoved her shoulder backwards, sending her through the archway. I then brought my sword down on the winch-stop beside the gate and watched it spin violently. The portcullis came crashing down in the archway, separating me from her. I tried to hold my blade as best I could, but between the stinging in my leg and the ringing in my missing ear, I could feel myself swaying.

"Bring him here," I heard Raff say. The first man approached me cautiously, an arm stretched out to grab me. As soon as he came close enough, I lopped his hand off and clasped his shoulder so I wouldn't miss my point. I didn't; the sword drove through his neck.

A second man came towards me, swinging his sword high. I let out a huff as I parried the blade, falling to the floor in the process. I kicked him in the gut and then impaled my blade through his leg. I pushed myself up from the ground and slashed the blade across the soldier's neck.

Something hard hit me in the jaw. I felt a tooth fly forwards out of my lips. I fell to the floor, looking back up at the man. I was grabbed by the throat and hit with the pommel of a sword once again, this time hard in my bad eye.

 **Raff Bolton – Winterfell, The North**

Markas Stark lay by the portcullis winch coughing like a sick little pup. I couldn't hold back the giggles. It was too entertaining – Bailen Flint was dead! Killed by Markas Stark. I knew that Bailen had always greatly admired and adored the Starks. And now he'd had his throat slit by one! Quite the lark.

"The wolf's finally found his claws!" I laughed to my men. "I'll offer you a deal, little Markas. Bend the knee. Beg for mercy. Proclaim me as the one true Lord of Winterfell, and maybe I'll kill you now. Otherwise, my men…" I turned to the big ugly brutes beside me who leered at the dying Stark. "Well, it could be their last few hours…" I faced Markas as he began to push himself up. "You've lost, Stark."

"No, Raff," Markas rasped through his torn throat, "no… I've won now."

"Sorry, do you… do you not understand what is happening right now?" I clenched my jaw. "How have you won?" Markas let out a laugh in response. "Tell me!" I took a step forwards.

"You took my ear." Markas smiled. "Taken my eye. Gutted me a thousand times over, and yet, with all your strength, there are still those who support House Stark. And they're out there, waiting to take back Winterfell."

I looked up through the portcullis at the distant fires. The army Markas spoke of. I'd publicly tortured him. Tortured Robard and Domeric Reed too. The North lived in terror of what I may do to others. No, Markas was wrong – _that's_ why they wanted Winterfell. They were scared of me!

"You know what happened to me as a boy?" Markas rose to his feet. "The Ironborn that took me? What he wanted to do to me? Well I'm still here. And you think a few threats can scare me… into what? Yielding? To you?" Markas let out another malice-filled with laugh as he looked up at the sun rising over the battlements. "I am Lord of Winterfell, Raff, not you. And there's nothing you or your father can do to change that-"

I dropped my bow and charged at him. I jumped on him, pushing him to the ground and drew my knife. I plunged it into his chest over and over again, screaming and barking as I did so.

"Tell me you're Lord!" I roared as I continued to stab his chest, "Tell me now!" I dragged the blade down and scratched his heart as Stark blood flared out of his chest. "Fucking Starks! Tell me you've won now! Tell me I've lost!" I grabbed the boy's throat and continued puncturing and piercing his chest. "Tell me I've lost!"

Markas' grey eyes were focused on nothing at all. His pale body didn't move, his broken chest didn't rise and fall. His black hair was covered in mud and blood, and Markas Stark lay dead in the courtyard of Winterfell.

I rose to my feet, wiping the blood from my mouth.

"Lord Bolton?" One of my men said. "What shall we do with the body?"

I looked through the portcullis to the Stark camp. Fuck Markas Stark and fuck what he thought. If Northerners didn't respond to my terror, I had not been ferocious enough.

"Put it in a gibbet," I ordered.

 **5216 words. I wasn't lying when I said this chapter is hefty.**

 **So, yeah… that's the other reason why this chapter took so long: Markas, Markas, Markas… submitted by** _ **BRuh4**_ **, and Markas has provided me with so many awesome storylines. One of our OG's.**

 **Well… the next chapter will be as long as this (if not longer) and is set about… a couple of hours after this chapter ended? Anyway, it's set in the North and King's Landing I would say more but the title is really self-explanatory. Chapter 20 is named '** _ **The Battle of Winterfell**_ **'.**

 **Leave a review where you can… I don't know, shout at me for killing Markas? Or say how much you hate Raff, maybe talk about whether you think Viserys will help or not? Finn and Evie's little dispute… Oh, or you can act like you know exactly what's going to happen in the next chapter (I love it when you guys think you've got it all figured out so I can hit you with a chapter like this where I kill off 2 characters).**

 **Either way, 10 more chapters left in this instalment. And the Battle of Winterfell is next. So… make of that what you will.**

 **R.**


	20. A Storm of Steel

**Fun fact, guys. This month alone, I've had a staggering 250 visitors for this story! You guys are awesome, and… well, yeah – you guys rock.**

 **I talked with a friend of mine and, while I was going to call this chapter '** _ **The Battle of Winterfell**_ **', he pointed out that that's the name of an upcoming GoT episode so… I changed the name for a lil' homage to George R. R. Martin.**

 **Also, guys, if possible, can you not submit these same characters to different SYOC's? It just kinda makes me go 'meh' when I see the exact same characters in other SYOC's and I'm like '… well, this story isn't really as unique anymore…'**

 **Anyhoo, this took 10 hours and it's still not perfect but I've got ANOTHER chapter to start so… enjoy!**

 **Ser Derrick Mormont – Winterfell, the North**

I'd never thought I'd be laying siege to Winterfell. As a child, my father brought me here once to meet Ben Stark. The only reason our House had the seat of Bear Island was because of a Stark. For centuries we'd served them as loyal bannermen. And now… now we were about to send our men to die trying to tear down their walls.

I knew that the House of Stark was more than just a castle. A castle was just a collection of stone, if you believe a Southnor, but that was home. Home to any and all in the North.

I turned my horse around and galloped to the back of the marching army, where a small huddle of mounted folk stood. Finn was astride a dark steed, Mikko a grey-speckled warhorse, and Lady Lorra a light brown mare that matched her hair perfectly. Finn dismounted his horse and walked across to Lady Evalyn, who stroked her albino horse.

"I'll come for you after the battle," Finn stated stiffly, "I swear."

"If you survive," Evalyn replied. Finn gritted his teeth and looked away from her. But, before he could turn around, Evalyn jumped up and wrapped her arms around Finn's neck. It felt wrong to watch this. It was their moment and looking on felt like stealing.

"Father, Lord Ichabod," I said to the two other lords there, "Accompany me to the front. We ought take command." They nodded and trotted over to me. "Finn," I said softly. He lower Evalyn back to the ground and turned to face me. "The North Remembers."

"Aye." Finn nodded, and stretched out an arm for me to grasp. "The North Remembers."

"The North Remembers," Evalyn responded. I bowed my head to her and looked over to Mikko.

"Mikko," I said loudly, "don't let that fucker do anything stupid!" I pointed towards Finn. Mikko smirked and gave a nod. I then rode to the front with Cerwyn and my father.

Winterfell looked more like the Dreadfort. On either side of the gate, flaming crosses could be seen – the charred bodies lashed to them, still smoking.

"Did he kill two of his own men?" I asked Father.

"Perhaps…"

"Well…" I let out a sigh and straightened up, "it's just another day… If I die, Father," I looked over to him, trying to figure out how to fully word how happy I was to see him, despite the fact we were riding into battle together. "Bury me with all my gold."

Father rolled his eyes and grasped my forearm. "Good fortune, son."

"You as well, Father."

My Father nodded to Lord Ichabod and galloped ahead with his troops, who carried a series of siege ladders. I looked to Lord Ichabod, who swallowed hard as he looked up to Winterfell. "Cheer up, My Lord," I smiled, "it's only war."

"Of all the men to die in battle," Lord Ichabod shook his head, "why couldn't one of them have been you?"

"Ah, well… I suppose it's because life is just interesting." I looked up to the approaching rainclouds. "I don't think I'm done with life. And I don't think it's quite done with me yet."

Lord Ichabod let out a scoff and a curse before trotting towards the Cerwyn forces, who banded together with the crannogmen and their siege ladders. I looked towards my Second Sons and rode out towards them.

"Aranais, Bellamo!" I whistled to my commanders. "You're to provide relief to the siege ladders, but stay on the ground. As soon as those gates open, we're the first ones inside."

"We may have to pay the men a bit more…" Aranais muttered.

"We'll just pay them from the purses of the dead men," I gave a wink and watched them divide up their forces before turning around to see a volley of arrows fire upon the Mormont forces. I swallowed my dread as I saw some of them fall.

"It's only war," I repeated to myself.

 **Lyra Lannister – Winterfell, The North**

Standing around felt awful. My place wasn't in the tallest tower with the other women. I wasn't going to pray to their Old Gods. The Seven had never given me the solace I sought – why would the Old Gods do so?

No, I wouldn't rely on Gods to save me, New or Old. And I wouldn't rely on a creature as barbaric or bloodthirsty as Raff. He was driven by the worm between his legs, as were most of the men I'd come across in my life.

I walked to the guard by the door, who quickly stopped picking at the handle of his bow and held a hand out to stop me.

"Lady Bolton, for your own safety, you're-" I drew his sword from his scabbard and pointed it at his neck. He held his hands up, palm-out.

"Strip." I ordered him. The men let out a nervous laugh, but I snipped the edge of the blade against his jaw. "Can you not understand me? Strip," I gave my best imitation of a Northerner's accent. "Or we'll see just how sharp a Bolton's blade really is."

 **Lorra Reed – Winterfell, The North**

Beneath the plains of the North, a true rabbit harrow ran. Finn would stop every now and then, stroking the walls and leading us down one tunnel. I supposed there must have been markings of some sort I couldn't see – I didn't dare ask Finn though, in case Bolton soldiers would hear us.

The ground would shudder every now and then. Well, thousands of horses make a lot of noise…

Finn held up a hand as we came to the corner of one of the tunnels after what felt like the better half of an hour. Finn peered around and unfastened his swordbelt, handing it to one of the foreign mercenaries with us. Drawing his knife, Finn crawled forwards on his hands and knees as if he was part wolf. He climbed through a small vestibule so we could only see the bottom of his boots. After a moment, he clambered back, holding a hand out for his sword belt. He held a finger to his lips and motioned for us to follow him.

I went second, taking off quiver of arrows and slowly sliding it in front of me. A moment later, I let out a soft gasp as Finn's gloved hand wrapped around mine, pulling me out from a narrow crease in the corner of a dark cavern.

Behind the statue, I was pushed up against his chest, unable to breathe without pushing him further into the statue behind him. Finn jerked his head to the right. I peered over his shoulder to see two Flint soldiers under a lit torch. I watched the one facing us look down at his knife, moving one leg vigorously and anxiously.

"You think you can get him?" Finn spoke into my ear in something quieter than a whisper. I gave a nod.

"I think so."

"It's not enough to injure him," Finn said, his dark eyes flickering in the distant firelight. "We can't let them know we're here."

I nodded. I put both hands on his body and pushed him back as I spread my legs to crouch down and grab my quiver. I straightened up (knocking my head against Finn on the way) and nocked an arrow and looped the quiverbelt over on shoulder.

"Move quickly." Finn ordered me. He then crouched down low, so he was just below my bust and gently stepped out from behind the statue. I took advantage of the new space and quickly stepped forwards. Leaning around, I drew my arrow fully and saw the guard facing us open his mouth as Finn approached. I exhaled slowly and let my fingers slip past the bowstring.

The arrow found it's mark, soaring over Finn's shoulder and past the other guard's shoulder and hitting the guard in the eye. As the guard jumped up, Finn cupped a hand over his mouth and brought the knife down into his neck. Blood erupted like a fountain, spraying across one of the statues. Finn let out a chirrup of a whistle and Mikko and the mercenaries emerged from behind the statue. I ran to the staircase and nocked an arrow, ready to kill any stray Bolton that may wander down.

"Outside, we need to run to the gatehouse," Finn informed us, "there's a winch to the portcullis there-"

I looked over to Finn, and saw his eyes linger on a statue that the blood had stained the face of. The stone was new, though I didn't really recognize the face – I wasn't close enough to make it out properly.

"Finn," Mikko whispered. Finn looked over to the foreigner and shook his head.

"Mikko – I want you opening the winch. No matter what – you stay by that winch. Lorra." Finn turned to me. "You've proven you're good with a bow. Keep watch."

"And you?" I asked him.

"I'll help the Second Sons open the gates once the portcullis is open." Finn wrapped a hand around the long, recurved sword in its soft scabbard and crept up the stairs. He paused at the top and gestured for the rest of us to follow.

I was first after Finn, pausing at the top and hiding behind the archway beside him. I could make out Bolton soldiers rushing up the steps to the battlements. Stray arrows would fling past he walls and into the courtyard mud. Finn turned to me, his dark eyes inches away from my own.

"See those men?" He asked softly, putting an arm around my neck and pointing to the winch, where three more men stood. I nodded. "Think you can take care of them?"

I took a breath as I witnessed another stray arrow. I nodded hesitantly – if I could get the right angle… maybe I could kill them without anyone noticing.

"I can take care of them," I said, kneeling down and drawing my arrow back gently. I waited for one of them to walk a little further away from the winch…

He paused for a moment to spit. I drew my arrow back fully and exhaled like Father had taught me. The arrow flew towards it's mark, hitting the soldier through his neck. The arrow hit him off-centre, causing him to turn around and fall flat on his back. Just as if the arrow had come from the opposite direction.

Finn pushed me up against the wall, a hand across my chest. I peered out from behind the archway and saw one of the Boltons shout something to the other before walking over to grab their fallen comrade. However, as he did so, a stray arrow slung itself into his shoulder, just below his helm.

"Something's finally going our way…" Finn shrugged.

I responded with a grin and drew another arrow as the man quickly jogged towards the rack of spears and shields, picking one up. I stepped out into the archway and straightened my back. I nocked an arrow and drew, inhaling. As soon as the arrow fletching reached my cheek, I breathed out, letting the arrow fling through the man's heart. I turned towards Finn, who raised an eyebrow.

"Who taught you how to shoot?"

"My father."

Finn looked to Mikko. "You've got competition," He muttered.

Mikko rolled his eyes and made his way to the winch, beginning to turn it. The Second Sons crept towards the gates, putting their hands under the portcullis and trying to help lift it. I nocked an arrow with one hand as I jogged along.

"Who taught you how to plan?" I muttered. There was no response. I turned back to where we had come from. Finn was standing in the middle of the courtyard, his hands limply at his sides as he stared at something. "Finn?"

I turned around to see an iron cage – a gibbet. Inside, a body leaned against the iron. The gaps were wide enough for me to make out his face. Pale skin, grey eyes, dark hair… I didn't recognize him. But, as I looked back to Finn, then to the corpse, I recognized his long face. I recognized his beard.

Finn's fist clenched.

 **Finn Snow – Winterfell, The North**

Markas. I hadn't seen him in over four years, and now I did… He was missing an ear, his eye was badly swollen. His jerkin was torn several times over, revealing chunks of his chest missing. First Father. Then Tylan. Now Markas. The last of us to carry the Stark line was gone.

"Finn, remember, we're here to open the gates," Lorra Reed hissed into my ear. I kept my eyes on Markas' body as Lorra began to pull at my arm. I could feel my the scars across my palm begin to open as my nails dug inside my swordhand. My arm began to shake.

"Loose!"

I turned my head towards the voice, and saw a man shorn of hair, clad in greys and blues. He looked as though he was ironborn, holding a greatsword in one hand. Father's greatsword.

Raff.

"Finn, we're here to open the gates." Lorra pulled at my arm again. "Don't be stupid, don't let him do this…"

Lorra's words began to fade away as I felt my heart start to race. Raff had taken my Father away from me. He'd taken my home away from me, and now he had taken Markas too. My jaw clenched as I saw him holding my Father's sword. _Markas_ ' sword. My fist shook and my jaw clenched and lungs swelled full. I pushed Lorra off me and drew my sword.

"Raff!" I bellowed, walking across the courtyard towards the stairs.

"Finn-" Lorra shouted, turning back to Mikko. "Open the fucking doors!"

"Raff!" I roared as I made my way up the stairs. One of the soldiers turned around to face me, lunging his spear forwards. I grabbed it and pulled him towards me, sticking my blade through his neck and pushing him down the stairs.

An arrow sailed over my shoulder, sticking into a soldier's eye. I grabbed the shield off the soldier and held it in front of me, feeling the arrows shudder the wood. I sliced the blade in front of me, hitting someone. I kept my eyes on Raff, whose eyes glinted as he grabbed the jerkin of a soldier in front of him, dragging him away.

"Focus on the fucking army!" He shouted as he walked towards me. A volley of arrows flew from behind, and I knelt down, sticking the shield over my head and feeling several arrows splinter the shield. I stood up and shoving the shield into another archer, who was impaled upon the fletching of arrows and went toppling over the wall.

A ladder slammed against the battlements next to me. A Cerwyn soldier was on top, and scrambled off the ladder, quickly getting shot with an arrow in the ear. I felt a hand grab my shoulder.

"Finn, we can't stay here-"

I shrugged off Lorra's hand and kicked a Bolton soldier from the battlements, walking towards Raff. He flourished the greatsword, Ice.

"Come, Bastard," he shouted loudly, "Let's see how much Bolton is really in you…"

His voice was enough. That smile of his was enough. I roared and leapt forwards, slashing at his face and throat. He deflected the blows with ease, leaning back when I tried to slice his jugular open. As he leant back, he faced up to look at the rainclouds, laughing and opening his mouth to feel the drops on his tongue.

I ducked beneath one of his blows and grabbed his free hand as he tried to strike me. My sword clanged against his and we began to push against one another.

"Pity," He hissed through his teeth, "I expected more!"

I saw his lips pucker and then I saw nothing. I stumbled backwards and began to rub his spit from my eyes. Looking up, I managed to step away just in time to dodge his wild lunge. I slipped on the soaked stone. Perhaps it was the rainwater, perhaps it was the blood or maybe a mix of the two. I fell into an archer behind me, quickly began reaching for his sword. I grabbed his hand to keep his sword in his scabbard and hit him in the face with the pommel of my blade, sending him stumbling over the battlements.

I spun around to face Raff, who ran towards me and coiled his blade back. I managed to bring my own Yunkish blade up, and it rang out against his. A moment later, I looked up at my severed blade, now in four pieces. I looked back to Raff, who threw the pommel of his blade directly into chest.

All the air escaped my mouth as I fell off the battlements. I hit the stairs and spun through the air, hitting the ground face-down.

I tried to push myself up, but I couldn't breathe. No air could stay in my chest. I gasped and rolled onto my side, my hands holding my chest as I let out a choked moan. Through the haze of blood, mud and rain, I managed to make out Raff walking down the castle stairs. A man rolled down the stairs next to him, fully alight. Bolton, I think. I had to get up. I needed to find my sword. I patted my hand around in the wet dirt, unable to see anything beyond the cracks of lightning in the sky and the rain that splattered in my stinging eyes.

I saw Lorra fall down the stairs, her ironwood bow cloven in two, connected only by the bowstring. Her nose was bloodied, one eye swollen and a long gash ran along her scalp. She pushed herself up onto her knees as Raff grabbed her shoulder, placing the tip of Ice on her neck. I saw her shudder as the raindrop ran along the blade.

"Raff-" I croaked, holding out a hand as my other searched for my blade. I rose to my knees. Raff cocked his head to the side as he turned to face me. A smile carved along his mouth as he released her hair and turned around to fully face me.

"What does it take to kill a Stark?" He laughed loudly.

"I'm not a Stark," I responded through my ragged throat. I slipped my hand to my belt and drew my wolfshead knife, gripping it tightly in my swordhand. Raff let out a small grin and drew a small, thin blade with his shieldhand. He held out both his blades.

"Shall we?" He grinned.

Before I could rush forwards, arrows flooded into the courtyard. Raff didn't flinch at all, he just stood there grinning. I, however, fell to the floor, grabbing my thigh. I looked down – the arrow hadn't stayed in, it'd just grazed me. I looked back up to Raff.

"Aren't we lucky?" Raff chortled.

A large roar echoed over my shoulder, and I turned around to see the gates be wrenched open. Running at the front of his forces was Ser Derrick Mormont – his long red hair soaked and whipping in the wind as he charged with his blade held in the air. Mikko ran beside him, his arakh at the ready as he threw his knives with his other hand.

Flint soldiers jumped down the stairs, tackling the Second Sons and trying to form some sort of defence. Behind Raff, a Bolton soldier lay dead. A Bolton soldier with his hand on a broken spear.

"Come, Bastard, try your strength."

As quick as a reflex, the thought came to my head. 'Strength means nothing to the water.' I ran forwards, picturing what I was going to do. I waited for Raff to draw Ice back fully, the thin blade stuck outwards to stab me for when I leapt forwards. Instead, I tucked one leg behind the other and leant backwards. Sliding across the mud, I swept underneath his blade. I gripped the spear as soon as it touched my leg and spun around to face Raff, whose sword sliced against the mud, sending it spraying over Lorra.

"Come on, you feckless Bastard…" Raff growled as he stormed towards me, "I'll show you how I stuck your cunt Father."

Something in my chest lurched again as I ran to Raff, lunging with the spearhead. Raff dropped his thin knife and grabbed my hand. The spearhead only just broke into his leg. He raised his greatsword, which I held my knife against.

"Just give up, Bastard," Raff hissed. My muscles ached. My lungs ached. My eyes stung and my head spun. Some part of me had died in that vault back in Braavos some months ago. Maybe the rest of me just needed time to catch up. Maybe if there was something after death, I'd see Father, and Markas and Tylan. Maybe Helesa was right – maybe the only Hell was the one that we were living in.

Raff's head cracked into mine and I fell backwards into the mud as he twirled the greatsword. He wiped the blood off his face and raised his sword high.

He fell to the ground, grabbing his ear, which began spewing blood. Removing his hand to examine the blood, I saw a chunk was missing. I looked up to the balcony where a woman stood in Bolton garb. A red surcoat tied loosely, her golden hair in an ornate braid over one shoulder. A quiver of black-fletched arrows at her hip, which she drew from. She closed one of her striking emerald eyes as she drew the arrow back fully.

"You fucking bitch-" The second arrow hit him in the shoulder, cutting him off.

Hearing Raff's voice made the wounded, aching beast in my chest roar once again. I came here for Markas. He was dead now, and I wouldn't leave without revenge.

I rose to my feet.

I hadn't survived sellswords and Bravos in Braavos just to come and die in Winterfell. I gripped my knife and began slashing and slicing at Raff, who began jumping backwards. I quickly stepped over the bodies, closing the space between us. I ducked as Raff lunged forwards with his sword, grabbing a longsword from a dead man's hand.

My sword clashed against his over and over again, until I feinted for an overhead strike. As Raff went to block, I brought the blade down by my hip and thrust it forwards through the top of his stomach with a yell.

Ice dropped to the floor, splashing in the mud.

I twisted the blade, watching Raff's face contort with confusion and shock as he looked down to the longsword that penetrated his chest.

"You…" Raff rasped, "You… fucking Starks…"

"For my family!" I hissed into Raff's ear, twisting the blade again before pushing it hilt-deep into his chest and dragging it back out, dropping the blade to the floor.

I dropped down to my knees beside Raff, letting out a groan. I'd done it. Markas was avenged. My Lord Father was avenged. Evie would be safe from Raff, now. I looked around, and the battle had not ended. Mormont and Cerwyn troops fell all around. A crannogman lay by Lorra's feet, clutching at her ankle as blood dripped from the arrow through his throat. Lorra held a short sword as her bannermen flooded around her. Flaming arrows panicked men who dropped to the floor, flapping their hands at the flames. Men fell beneath each other in mountains of flesh and mud.

"G-glorious, isn't it, Bastard?" Raff looked over to me, a large grin painted across his face. "Quite the homecoming I promised…"

 **Evalyn Stark – The North**

It still wasn't right to send me away. I sat on my horse, trotting along with a triad of Mormont soldiers. They talked solemnly about what they thought the odds were for our forces to take Winterfell.

"If you care to find out," I said finally, "we can always turn around."

"Our Lord swore to your brother that we'd keep you safe," one of the Mormonts said, "we don't wish to make our Lord Rolan a liar."

"I am your Liege Lady. Your duty is to me before Lord Rolan."

"Then you'd have us be dishonourable no matter what we do." Another of the Mormonts replied.

"You hear that?" One of the soldiers muttered as he looked up to the sky. "Is that a storm coming?"

"Aye," The first soldier responded, "the Gods don't enjoy when Northmen fight themselves."

"The Gods only enjoy when people fight," I responded. "That's all the Gods enjoy."

"Cheery one, in't she?" The Mormont in front rolled his eyes. We all paused as we looked to the horizon, where a sound travelled, distant but distinctive. Like the beating of war drums, growing louder and louder by the passing of a second. "What the fuck is that?"

"Oh, Gods…" One of the Mormonts said, "They won't stand a chance."

I swallowed to contain my terror.

 **Finn Snow – Winterfell, The North**

My Father's greatsword, Ice, was a sight. I hadn't seen it in years and… well, I remembered it as being bigger. When I was younger, the sword had been my height, pommel to tip. Being Valyrian steel, I could wield it in one hand – as if it were a hand-and-a-half hilt. Tucking my gloves into my belt, I ran a hand along the hilt.

I looked over to the wheezing Raff, who suffered slowly, leant up against the side of the stairs to the battlements.

"Finn!" I looked over to Ser Derrick, who left the castle tower, escorting the golden-haired girl in men's armour. "We found her. Claims she's Lady of Winterfell."

"You're a Bolton?" I frowned.

"Lyra of House Lannister. Wed to that," she nodded her head to Raff. I looked to Ser Derrick.

"She's no love for him."

"Are you sure?" Ser Derrick narrowed his eyes. I gave him a nod.

"No Alvar?"

"No Alvar," Ser Derrick confirmed.

"Shit…" I muttered as I began pacing in the courtyard. If Alvar wasn't here, he must've been in the Dreadfort. While he lived, the Boltons could always regain influence and control. I'd need to march East as soon as we were able to bolster the castle's defences. With the portcullis jammed open, and the walls still under repair… we wouldn't be able to march in less than a month. I kicked a Bolton corpse. "Craven!"

"It was your brother that was craven, Bastard," I heard the hoarse voice from Raff behind me. "Gods, he could whinge, that one. Squealed like a stuck pig- He begged for me to end him, you know?" Raff coughed up some blood. I took a step towards him. "Oh, how he cursed your name… how you started this War. His last words were 'Finn… Finn'-" he spoke in a falsetto, mocking Markas.

I let out a growl when I grabbed Raff by his jerkin and raised him to his feet, throwing my fist into his face. I hit him again and again and again. His nose crunched against my knuckles, which began to sting hotly as I threw my first into Raff's smiling face again and again. He let out a laugh, blood streaming out of his nose. I punched him with my shieldhand, sending him to the floor.

"'Finn, Finn'," He kept on speaking in his broken falsetto. I let out a snarl as I climbed on top of him, striking at his face again. His cheeks began to split open, his brow began to crack. I wanted him to shut up. He didn't deserve to think about Markas. I grabbed a fistful of hair and hit him again, turning his nose in on itself as I punched his head deeper and deeper into the mud.

"'Finn, Finn'," He gurgled through the blood. I let out a yell, my throat scratching itself as I felt my knuckles dislodge and scrape against his skull.

"Finn!"

"Shut up!" I shouted at Raff.

"Finn, it's me!" I growled as a hand touched my shoulder, turning with teeth bared, looking through my bloodstained strands of hair to see Lorra Reed there. She took a step backwards, her hand quickly retracting as she locked eyes with me. I looked back to Raff, whose face was half-broken. I could still make out his grin, which breathed out bubbles of ragged breath in his blood.

A horn sounded in the distance. I looked up, as did everyone around me. Ser Derrick and Rolan Mormont were the first to run up the battlements, followed quickly by Lorra and Ichabod Cerwyn.

"I did… promise you a… homecoming," Raff gasped through his broken face. "I win."

I clenched my fist and gripped his throat. He wasn't in pain yet – I needed to make him feel every death he was responsible for…

"Finn!" Ser Derrick roared from the battlements. Just as he did when we fought in the Second Sons. "Finn, he's dead – leave him!"

I looked at Raff's smile and threw his body to the ground as I stood up, walking across the courtyard and up the stairs. In the distance, below the rainclouds and the lightning, stood a cavalry of thousands. I examined the banners as best I could. Chains on a red field, two bronze keys crossed on a pale…

"Umber, Locke, Slate, Moss, Marsh…" Rolan Mormont shook his head. "What the fuck are they doing here?"

"A homecoming…" I muttered, shaking my head. If we hadn't made it into the castle, we'd be caught between two armies. Even though we'd taken Winterfell, we had no means of keeping it. We couldn't even close the portcullis. In a pitched battle, with trenches dug… maybe we'd have stood a chance. We'd created a tailback. Inside Winterfell, we had no hopes of keeping out a force that large.

If I'd waited a few hours. Just a few hours…

I leant against the battlements as Lyra walked up the stairs to look out amongst the army.

"What is this, Bolton?"

"I'm a Lannister," Lyra replied. "A Lord Flint arrived some days ago to bring some men because there were reports of armies marching from the Neck…" Lyra looked over to Lorra, who scowled. "I think that this is the rest of the forces Alvar mustered."

"Finn, what do we do now?" Ser Derrick muttered to me. I drummed my fingers along the stone wall.

"Bolster the gates?" Lorra asked.

"With what?" Lyra scoffed.

"The- the ladders from the walls."

"Not enough time," Ser Derrick chimed in.

"Ride out to meet them," Rolan Mormont said with his deep voice, "we've enough men…"

"For a pitched battle, aye," reasoned Ichabod, "but we're injured, and far fewer than them. We send out an emissary to treat with them…"

"Fuck treating with them," Lorra growled, "let them come in the walls. We'll assemble archers…"

"We'll be overrun!"

"Finn," Mikko spoke lowly, "What are we doing?"

I turned my bare hand over, looking at the scar on my palm. My hand began shaking again. I looked up at the army riding towards and closed my hand around the hilt of Ice. It began to steady itself. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.

"Rally the troops. Have them hold the castle. Post the Second Sons all along the walls-" I drew Ice from its scabbard and raised it high. "Northmen, with me!" I shouted loudly, walking down the steps.

"You think we have a chance?" Ser Derrick followed me down the steps.

"If that portcullis can close, aye. It's small, but it's something."

"I should've known I'd never get a boring death with you…" Mikko sighed from my side.

"No, Mikko," I said quietly, stopping him, "I need you to leave through the tunnel."

"What?"

"Ride to Bear Island. You need to protect Evie. Promise me you'll keep her safe."

"I fought beside you across Essos, Finn Snow. I won't abandon you-"

"Are you my brother? Now and always?"

Mikko grimaced and gave a short nod. "Now and always," he affirmed. I gave him a smile and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Promise me."

"I promise."

I removed my hand from his shoulder and turned back to the men. "Come, men, fight with me!"

"Finn," Mikko stopped me from walking. "If there's a chance I…" He frowned and took a breath. "Where do I find you after the battle?"

I held out an arm. " _Valar Morghulis_ , brother."

Mikko nodded and grabbed my arm, " _Valar Dohaeris_." And with that, I turned back to the portcullis, where I saw the distant cavalry begin riding at full tilt. I looked to my men who tried pushing the winch, to no avail. Several crannogmen tried climbing the archway to unlodge the portcullis by hand, but those that were able to climb were not nearly heavy enough to drag it down to the ground.

I looked up at the approaching horsemen.

"They're going to swamp us…" I muttered. They were getting closer very quickly – almost halfway towards Winterfell. "I'm not going to die cowering behind a fucking shield…" I stepped forwards, turning around to face the hundreds that had followed me to the gate. I raised my father's sword high. "The North Remembers!"

The men echoed my shout and we began running forwards along the field. All men must die, but it is up to them to choose how it must happen. I would die like my Lord Father – on the field, sword in hand.

The skies shook. Not a crack of lightning or a roll of thunder. It was something else. The clouds split in two.

 **Viserys Targaryen – Winterfell, The North**

Lightning crashed all around in the clouds. But I wouldn't be deterred. I manoeuvred Broxagon's red body through the storm until we came to Winterfell. I turned away from the rain and saw the emerald glimpses of SunFyre, the pale gold hair of Visenya whipping through the dark clouds.

I burst forth over Winterfell, Broxagon holding his large, powerful wings out wide as he glided down slowly towards the field. Winterfell stood on one side, and a large force resembling a spearhead on the other. I turned around.

"Who are yours?"

Evie peered from over my shoulder, her arms wrapped tightly around my waist as she narrowed her eyes.

"I can't see from up here!"

"Hold on!" I shouted over the whistling wind. I kicked my heels against Broxagon, who furled his wings inwards and began to dive. Like a falcon hunting prey, we soared towards the ground. "Chains on a red banner," I shouted the descriptions to Evie, "two bronze keys crossed…"

"Locke, that's Locke and Umber!" Evie shouted. "Those are the Bolton banners!"

I nodded and kicked Broxagon's golden horn. He let out enough deafening roar that shook through me and beat his powerful wings as we glided to the right, riding towards them. " _Ao sagon ȳgha, valītsos_ ," I muttered into Broxagon's ear. He let out another bellow and came lower to the ground. " _Dracarys_!"

Broxagon breathed a steady jet of flames across the horsemen. The tip of the Bolton's blade quickly shattered into scared, screaming men. The emerald blur of SunFyre whipped past Evie and me, breathing quick snouts of fire in front of the retreating armies, sending them into disarray.

I swept over towards Winterfell, breathing flames across the banners that still rode to Winterfell. They quickly turned around, and I pulled back on the golden horns of Broxagon. He beat his wings and landed, running towards the gates of Winterfell, where a measly force of some hundred men stood. They all scurried away as I came closer, huddling behind their shields as Broxagon roared. All except one man, who stood at the front of them, a greatsword in one hand, skin as pale as Evie, and staring in wonder as Broxagon coiled his neck and loosed another roar.

 **6,004 words… that makes this the longest chapter in the series, I believe. Man, this took literally** _ **all**_ **day to write. It could've been longer but… I'd just be chewing the scenery then.**

 **Anyhoo, lemme know what you thought. Especially about Raff's demise (that's not a spoiler, btw, it's pretty obvious he's dead…), but also about how the battle panned out. I know there's gonna be a lot of 'I knew it'd end like that' yada yada yada, but… I mean, c'mon man, you just read over 6,000 words – say something else.**

 **That being said, I hope it was satisfying to actually see everything happen. I mean, as exhausting as the past couple of days have been, it's immensely rewarding to see these chapters (that've been in mind from Day Uno) finally materialize with emotional weight and well-established characters.**

 **So, next chapter is called '** _ **The Sword in the Darkness'**_ **. It takes place entirely at Castle Black and… I have not planned exactly what's going to happen, so I'm take some time to plan it (I've been working on this chapter for about 10 hours) and get to work on it tomorrow. Anyone who wants to submit one of the Free Folk or the Night's Watch, now would be the time – more 'screentime' for your character as it were.**

 **R.**


	21. The Sword in the Darkness

**So guys, on Golden Retriever Day, my brother's golden retriever died… it was really emotional. BUT, my brother got a new puppy today, and our younger brother got to name him. He called him Stannis. I've never been prouder.**

 **So, yeah, the positive response to the Battle of Winterfell was just staggering! Truly, thank you! It's really rewarding when I've seen some of you be unsure about Finn and Raff and the War in the North in general, but it seems that everyone loved that battle. Which, tbh, I've been building towards from the get-go. So, a massive thank you to you all, you're truly amazing!**

 **Anyway, I've been doing some coursework, and figured I'd press on with this chapter. It's nowhere near as long as the previous one, because I didn't want to write another battle scene** _ **just**_ **yet, so I tried to do something different… Enjoy!**

 **Taenara Faenis – The Red Keep, King's Landing, The Crownlands**

King Aeron looked strange. Not strange like most of the Westerosi men – all bearded and boasting broaches of animals, no, although King Aeron did carry a silver three-headed dragon upon his chest and had a faint beard, he was different in another way. He looked like me. Violet eyes, silver hair… I'd never seen someone who looked like me before. And now I did… I wasn't sure what to make of it.

King Aeron sat at a round marble table with Queen Delyth. I liked her – she was nice to me, and more welcoming than anyone else. Even Lord Lucian. However, on the other side of the table, I saw a woman Queen Delyth had introduced as her sister, Lady Ashriel. There was some resemblance; both had long waves of hair that ended at their waist, and both had the same golden doe eyes. However, Queen Delyth's hair was brown, and Lady Ashriel's was black. Queen Delyth was beautiful, a foot taller than me and of a lithe and small frame, her small hand held delicately like a thorned rose in King Aeron's. And whereas Lady Ashriel wore long, loose dresses that hung off her small shoulders, Queen Delyth's clothes mimicked that of Helesa Irinos back in Braavos.

Next to Lady Ashriel was Princess Laena. She also looked like King Aeron and myself. Silver hair and pale purple eyes, but my eyes were drawn more to the patch shorn of hair on her right side. She'd made an attempt to look beautiful, her eyelashes thick and dark, but all that did was draw attention to the burns that narrowly avoided her eyes. The skin was corroded and scorched, resembling crumpled parchment across the right side of her face. I quickly brought my eyes down to my feet as she moved her head to face King Aeron.

"This is lovely, isn't it?" He smiled, reach across the table to clasp his hand around Queen Delyth's. "A real family, together for luncheon," King Aeron smiled and sipped water.

"Aeron insists on drinking water with me," The Queen smiled at me, "says he won't deprive me of wine if he cannot do the same."

"What sort of husband would I be?" King Aeron gave his wife a kiss before settling his eyes on me. "I don't recognize you, My Lady…"

"Lyanna isn't a Lady," Princess Laena responded, "She's a Hill. Lucian Lannister's bastard daughter."

King Aeron chewed a grape with a raised eyebrow as he glanced his eyes over to me. "You don't look like him."

"No, Your Grace." I cleared my throat as I recited Lord Lucian's instructions in my head. "I take after my mother."

"Ah. Well, you must join us. Trueborn or not, I'll not refuse kin of Lord Lucian at my table. Please," King Aeron stood up and pulled out his chair, letting me take my place. I'd never been treated like this before – especially not by a King. It seemed Princess Laena would be more likely to attack me than King Aeron if I told them my real name. "So, where are you joining us from, Lyanna Hill?"

"Braavos, Your Grace."

"Braavos?" King Aeron turned away from pouring me a cup of water and faced Queen Delyth. "I sent your Lord Father there recently, didn't I, Delyth?"

"Father went to the Iron Bank." Queen Delyth nodded. "Aeron has finally settled _all_ of the crown's debts to them. He paid them with a dragon egg."

I let out a cough I gulped down air that had suddenly escaped my lungs. "A dragon egg?"

"Dragon eggs are placed in the cribs of Targaryens at birth so they may hatch at birth," King Aeron explained as he sat down in a vacant seat between Laena and me. "But, some time ago, the babe died at birth, and so the egg never hatched. Over time, it turned to stone… still priceless, though."

I remembered the black and white egg breaking apart as a white snout poked out. The tiny white dragonling that had been stolen from the Iron Bank. It couldn't have been the same one, could it? I didn't imagine that the Iron Bank had many dragon eggs, but… how could it have turned from stone to a hatchling?

A knocking at the door interrupted my thoughts. I looked over to see a young boy enter, clasping a ravenscroll in one hand.

"Your Grace." The messenger bowed.

"I'm sorry…?"

"Lorkyn of House Hightower, Your Grace."

"Lord Lorkyn, I am taking luncheon with my family. Might this wait?"

"The Lord Hand said you would want to be alerted straight away," Lord Lorkyn bowed his head and held out the ravenscroll. King Aeron let out a sigh and accepted it, unravelling it. He slowly looked up to Princess Laena, his jaw clenched.

"What is it, husband?" Queen Delyth asked.

"Lord Raff of House Bolton was killed in combat. Apparently Evalyn Baratheon descended upon him with an army of sellswords."

"And?" Lady Ashriel spoke for the first time, stifling a giggle. "It's the North, My King. Let them continue with their squabbles. It changes nothing-"

"It does when she was assisted by two dragons." King Aeron's eyes remained on Princess Laena. Queen Delyth grew tense as her hand crept across the table to squeeze King Aeron's. I looked around at everyone, completely oblivious to what exactly this meant.

"Viserys can't be alive," Princess Laena frowned, "it's not possible…"

"So Broxagon and SunFyre are doing this of their own free will?"

"I… you killed him! We all-"

"Aeron _defeated_ Viserys in single combat." Lady Ashriel scowled at Princess Laena.

"Where is Lord Lucian now?" King Aeron asked Lord Lorkyn.

"He's convening a council."

"I'll be along." King Aeron faced Queen Delyth, whom he gave a kiss, caressing her round face. "I'll join you for dinner."

"Of course, husband."

Aeron turned around and strode out of the room, leaving me with the women that all examined each other with confusion.

 **Julian – Castle Black, The Wall, The North**

From atop the Wall, I could see the Wildlings stretching out amongst the treeline like water spreading through sand. Gods, there were so many of them – it were as though all of Fleabottom got up and left. I never knew so many people could live beyond the Wall.

"A hundred," A man spoke from behind me.

"Fuck off…"

"I swear! A hundred."

"You've not killed a hundred Wildlings!"

"I have! I reckon I'll kill a hundred more tonight…"

"Fancy a wager?" The second man turned to me. "Padrick here reckons he's quite the marksman."

The second man was a little older than me, with ragged scruff running along his round jaw. The man I presumed to Padrick was tall, with cropped brown hair and chipped front teeth. He twirled his dark bow.

"I've been a ranger five years," Padrick said, "I'll bet you I kill a hundred Wildlings tonight. Give me enough arrows, I'll kill the lot of them." He offered his hand.

"I'd rather not," I replied, turning back to watch the Wildlings below. The Lord Commander and the cavalry had gone below – that's what we called passing below the Wall. Any moment now, the they'd ride out to slaughter them all. 'Can't let them retreat', The Lord Commander told me, 'the Wildlings will just come back'.

We may have been able to let them pass through the Wall, but that didn't need we had to go out and murder them. It just… it just didn't seem right to me.

But Wyllis was right. These were my brothers. And the Night's Watch had protected the Seven Kingdoms for hundreds of years. Ancient and noble. I'd only been here a couple of months – perhaps I was still learning how to be one of them.

I nocked an arrow in my bow, waiting for the wildlings to charge. A large series of chains and ropes were tied around my waist – when the Wildlings rushed to climb the Wall, I was given the responsibility of hanging over the edge and firing down upon them.

I stood there, clenching my gloved fists in an attempt to keep my fingers from falling off. Padrick and the other Brother stood a little further away from me, cables bound around their waists too.

"Do we really have to fucking wait up here all day?" Padrick growled.

"Worried you'll lose the wager?"

"Piss off, Darrin."

I cast a look over to them, grinning and chuckling as we saw our brothers flood out from the tunnel below the Wall. Like ale from a jug. They spread out and began riding hard, splitting into two files and surrounding the Wildling hordes.

"Ey, Southnor," Darrin shouted to me, "you'll like this part!"

I frowned, turning back to the sight that unfolded. The two halves of our soldiers turned and rushed at the Wildlings hard. Like waves flooding over a rock, the Wildlings were drowned in the black of the Night's Watch, smashed into pieces like they were being hammered against an anvil. I turned to Padrick and Darrin, who both cheered and hooted loudly. Padrick was sullen and frustrated, claiming he 'wasn't given a fair chance'.

It reminded me of the executions in King's Landing. How everyone clamoured for dragons to devour the accused. How quickly everyone called for blood. I looked back down there, and saw them running, hunted down by my Brothers into the woods.

"They-" Darrin gasped between bouts of laughter. "They didn't even try to climb the fucking Wall!"

"Well, if they did-"

"Ey, hang about…" Darrin held a finger to his lips and turned so his ear looked out among the horizon. I heard the same thing – distant screams that echoed up from the battlefield below. "You can hear them screaming!" Darrin laughed and slapped Padrick on the shoulder as he began unfastening the chains around his waist, "I'll let you take my watch!"

"I reckon I could've got two with a single arrow!"

"You couldn't aim your cock into a cunt…" Darrin was cut off with a scream as he fell backwards over the Wall, plummeting to the ground. Rising to their feet was a Wildling. A pale apparition of a girl. Wrapped in white furs, with hair the colour of ice falling down to her shoulders, unevenly chopped. Her red-purple eyes darted towards Padrick, who let out a yelp and fumbled to draw an arrow from his quiver.

Baring her teeth, the Wildling girl drew her spear from her back and swept it at Padrick's ankles. Padrick fell backwards, his chains holding him over the edge. Padrick opened his mouth and let out half a shout before the Wildling stuck her spear through his throat. Other men atop the Wall began running towards her, drawing steel and keeping their distance as the girl let out snarls and barks to any who would come too close.

I rummaged a hand through my quiver and drew an arrow, nocking and drawing it back fully. But I would be shooting the girl in the back. I remembered the Wildling boy. I remembered his mother. Wildling or not, she was someone's daughter.

But I'd sworn an oath. And she stood in front of my Brothers. Seven Hells, she'd already slain two of them.

And the rest of mine would surely kill her now.

I drew back my arrow and loosed it into her ankle. She fell to the ground, cursing and slapping away the steel tips of swords as my Brothers came closer to her.

"Julian's caught a frost-girl!" One of the men chuckled as he approached her. "I'll finish her off for you-"

"Surely she can help us fight the Wildlings?" I looked to them. They all had blank, vacant expressions across their faces. "She knows them. She can tell us about them-"

The girl let out a yell as she lunged towards me. One of my brothers hit the back of her head with the bottom of his pike. He raised to do so again, despite the fact the girl could barely push herself up off the ground.

"Stop it!" I shouted, "You don't need to kill her!"

"She's a Wildling!" My Brother responded.

"She's our prisoner!" I turned to the rest of my Brothers, "The man that kills her can tell the Lord Commander himself, and suffer the punishment!"

My Brothers all paused, staring at the girl, weighing up their options. Finally, it seemed they saw sense, as they sheathed their steel and picked the girl up the floor by her arms and dragged her away, the men returning to their posts.

I looked down to see the Wildling's spear on the ice. It looked strange – a dark, tough grain I recognized as Ironwood – a rare resource found only in the North. However, it was combined with another wood. White, like bone, and incredibly smooth… it was weirwood. I crouched down to examine it; I hadn't seen it in a weapon before – the only weirwoods in the Seven Kingdoms were in godswoods in the North. The only weirwood trees that weren't protected by rule of the King or Lords were Beyond the Wall.

As I rose to my feet with the spear, I noticed something else; a necklace lay on the ground. If I hadn't been crouched down already, I was sure I would've missed it. It was a necklace of human teeth – easily enough to make up a man's mouth.

I quickly wrapped the necklace in one hand and began to follow after the woman to hand her over to the Lord Commander upon his return.

 **So, that's the chapter. Short and sweet. The next one is named '** _ **The Wolf's Howl**_ **', and takes place entirely in Winterfell… shocker.**

 **Can people tell me, just out of interest, which character pairings they'd like to see? It doesn't have to be feasible – you could say something like 'Visenya Targaryen and Hilario Baharis'… which, come to think of it, would've been a fun scene to write. For me, personally, it's a toss-up between Finn and**

 **Who knows? I'm still on the fence about writing a short lil' prequel – that is, if the characters creators agree to it. But that's a way off. In fact, I'm already planning what the rough storyline of the next project will be.**

 **And it's a big'un.**

 **R.**


	22. The Wolf's Howl

**So guys, guess what? I just realized that I've killed off 18 main characters so far… And, would you look at that, I've still got 8 more chapters after this… *rubs hands together wickedly*.**

 **But we'll get to that. Let's give you a little bit of kindness to lull you into a false sense of security… I mean… no, not that.**

 **Viserys Targaryen – Winterfell, The North**

I gripped Dark Sister in one hand as the other held a torch. I felt my stomach flood with dread as each echo of my footstep rang out hollow. What if the Boltons killed all the prisoners before I'd arrived? What if Haylise had managed to escape, and was cut down in the fighting?

I examined each of the cells, finding no-one. Haylise wasn't here. I opened each of the doors and looked fully – there were no prisoners, alive or dead.

I felt like crying. But, after Father, Draegor, Ser Richard… I didn't have the energy anymore. I sheathed Dark Sister and took a breath, sweeping a hand across my forehead, feeling the scar, even now, that ran across my eye.

I climbed up the stairs and began looking for Visenya. She'd have to assemble the forces with Evie while I travelled to find Haylise…

I walked through the chambers, and in one of them, I recognized someone. Lyra Lannister – her golden hair was pulled together into a ponytail, and though her cheeks were gaunt, her emerald eyes still twinkled.

"My Lady," I walked into the room, and it was as though my heart fell out.

Haylise sat beside Lyra, wrapped in a thick woollen dress. I'd never seen her in something that covered her shoulders. Her Baratheon black hair was still thick and lustrious, though it was now tied into a thick braid that hung at the small of her back – my own hair had gotten long in… Gods, it'd almost been a year.

"Viserys," Haylise stood up. She looked thin, but still as beautiful as the day I had wed her. Some of her hair grazed her bright blue eye and tucked behind her ear. There was no gold or silver adorned to her dress. She reminded me of Evie, despite being far more womanly.

"Gods, I thought…" I was cut off as she moved forwards and wrapped her arms around my neck. I wound my arms around her waist and let out a shuddering breath – when was the last time she'd held me? "I thought you were gone."

"And I you," I heard her voice in my ear. "Everyone said you fell at Storm's End."

"I did." I remembered grabbing MoonFyre's horns as he wailed on the way down. And I remembered how it felt when I awoke to find his body lay at the bottom of the sea. As if some fire deep within me had burnt out. "Lyra sent a raven to my sister."

"She told me." Haylise turned around to Lyra with a smile. "By the Seven, I never knew if I'd see either of you again."

It was only then that I noticed something about Haylise. How her hands rested over her belly, stroking it with a smile. I began to notice the discernible swelling and felt my jaw drop slightly.

"Haylise," I said quietly, "you're…"

Haylise bit her lip and nodded. "I didn't realize until after Storm's End…"

"Nothing's wrong?" I took a step forwards, examining the small scrapes on her face. "You haven't… Lyra- Lady Lyra, is there a Maester? Can we have-"

"Everything's fine," Haylise said through a soft chuckle as she grabbed my hands, "Raff Bolton didn't do anything to me. There was someone with me – Markas Stark. He took up Raff's attention… sometimes on purpose."

I remembered the body in the gibbet I had passed. An ear missing, chest torn open… I'd been told it was Markas Stark but, truth be told, it could've been a peasant and I wouldn't be able to tell any different. I'd never met Markas Stark before.

"Where is Markas?" Haylise asked. "He escaped – a serving girl helped him."

"I'm… no, he…" I saw Haylise's brow furrow as she struggled to understand what I was saying. "I'm sorry, Haylise."

Haylise gave a small nod and sighed. "He deserved better."

I nodded, and turned to Lyra.

"Thank you, My Lady. You helped me save my wife and… and if there's anything I can do, please do not hesitate to ask."

"She may be Queen, but she's still My Lady." Lyra stood and clasped Haylise's hand. "And my friend."

They shared a smile before Lyra left, leaving me alone with Haylise for the first time in many months. I looked down at her swelling belly, where I had a son or a daughter growing. Would they have Haylise's blue eyes? Or her black hair? I hoped our child would inherit her spirit, if anything. Still… I always thought that, if I was lucky to have a child, it wouldn't have been with Haylise. Nor would it have been with Visenya.

I could still remember Ashriel. We'd talked once about whether a child would be a curse. Ashriel was shaken at the idea of birthing a bastard. A Flowers in Highgarden. Back then, I was to marry Visenya. I suppose neither of us believed there was a chance for anything more than as many nights together as we could steal. But… some part of me felt guilty – as though I should've been holding Ashriel as we discussed my child.

"I'm going to be a father," I pressed my lips to Haylise's. The war could wait a day or two.

"The Northmen," Haylise said when she pulled away from me, "Who leads them?"

"Evie Stark, of course-"

"Evie's alive?" Haylise's eyes grew as wide as dinner plates. "How is that possible?"

"I don't know, she-"

"Where is she? Is she here?" Haylise moved past me to leave the room and start searching the castle. I let out a small groan – how many months had it been since I'd seen her? We were in a bedroom…

Still, I suppose Evie was now a Baratheon by law. Regardless of whether the marriage was consummated or not, she was Haylise's sister. I turned around and went to follow Haylise, jogging to keep up with her.

 **Rolan Mormont – Winterfell, The North**

The portcullis was rusted. Whether it was the water or the winch's chains, it wouldn't shut down properly. Lord Ichabod had seen fit to volunteer a handful of his men to fix this, though they could do little except lift things. I walked up to Lord Ichabod, handing him a horn of ale. He gave me a smile and sipped it.

"Didn't expect to see you helping Starks." I took a swig of my ale.

"I'm sworn to them, aren't I?"

"Aye… but after all, Markas Stark died a long time ago, didn't he?" I turned to him, "At least, that's what you told little Evie and my son, Derrick."

Lord Ichabod swallowed, though he kept his eyes fixed upon me. "I presumed he was dead."

"Strange that no-one else did, though," I thought aloud, gripping the horn. "Your men also provided a majority of the army."

"As did your own, My Lord."

"Aye, but Markas sent me away with my men. Did he send you away also?"

"No, he did not, My Lord."

"Then why is it that you have so many men?"

Ichabod turned his body to face me fully. "If you're accusing me of something, My Lord, please do so plainly."

"I'm not a damned Southnor, Cerwyn. If I accuse you of something, you shall know."

"The only reason you're here, Mormont, is because it was _I_ who protected Lady Evalyn." Lord Ichabod gave a small scoff. "You'd do well to remember that, Grimbear."

I always hated that name. Tylan and Evie had given me the name Oldbear, but I'd carried the name 'Rolan the Grim' since the death of Adyn Stark at the hands of Alvar Bolton. Lord Ichabod walked away towards the keep, leaving me to watch his soldiers struggle with the portcullis.

"You men," I walked towards them, "which of you were at the Dreadfort?" They all exchanged looks – seeing how they were reacting. "The Siege of the Dreadfort with Markas Stark – come on, men, is there a tongue in your head?"  
"Aye, My Lord. We was there."

"You saw Markas Stark get taken?" I asked. All the men were quiet once again, looking towards each other in confusion. "I have some questions, and you'd do well not to lie to me…"

 **Haylise Baratheon – Winterfell, The North**

There were Gods. I didn't know if they were New or Old, but there were certainly Gods as I had been returned to my husbands, my friend, and my sister. Evie Stark was still pale-faced, with light blonde hair, light grey eyes… but she'd grown. She was taller, her body curved to resemble a woman's more than a girl's. She stood in the courtyard in a fine green dress, a grey wolf stitched upon it.

"Evie!" I flung my arms around her, smiling. "Gods, I thought you died…"

"Not quite," Evie's voice was muffled in my shoulder. I released her and examined her. "Seven Hells, you've grown…"

"As have you." Evie gestured to my belly. "A Prince or Princess?"

"As long as it's healthy," I let my hands stroke my belly. Gods, I couldn't wait. A child of mine and Viserys'. Perhaps I would name him for Baldinar – Gods, I hadn't seen him in years, not even in King's Landing. No, he was always too busy – always striving to become Lord Commander.

"Ryleigh," Evie asked quietly, "do you know if…?"

My heart sank. "I don't know." I took a breath. "So, how did you manage to do all of this? Assemble an army, re-take Winterfell?"

"It's… it's a long story-"

A clanging sound echoed across the courtyard. We all looked to see the iron gibbet be dropped to the floor and opened. Soldiers walked over to hold the body that I knew to be Markas. I knew it from how Evie's lips trembled and her eyes began to water. I interlocked my fingers with hers.

"I want my brother to be buried in the crypt," I said quietly, "next to my father."

"I know what it's like to lose a brother, Evie," I tried to comfort her. What would I do if we were at Storm's End or King's Landing… "I'd… I'd like to throw a feast in his honour. Do you think he would've like that? If we sent ravens to the Northern Lords… they can also bend the knee and swear fealty to you-"

"I wish to walk in the Godswood, Your Grace," Evie said quietly.

"Right, yes, of course, Evie. Prayer can help-"

"Your Grace," Evie paused as she tore her eyes away from Markas' corpse, "I prefer Evalyn now."

"Of course, Lady Evalyn." I watched her walk away, not turning her face away from the archway that led to the forest within the city walls.

 **Evalyn Stark – Winterfell, The North**

I couldn't cry in front of others. I wasn't Little Evie Stark anymore. I was Lady Evalyn. Though my name may have been Baratheon, I was like my mother. I cast a look over my shoulder to make sure no-one had followed me into the Godswood and I finally let myself succumb to the pain inside. I held onto the bark of one of the trees, letting myself sob.

Markas was gone. After all our plans, all our men, two dragons… he'd still died. Winterfell may have flown Stark banners once again, but Markas was dead. Now, once again, I was the last surviving member of my House. The only one that could rule Winterfell with a true claim. Though my name was no longer Stark, my blood still was.

I hit the tree. Hard. And I enjoyed it – the stinging in my knuckles… it was good to feel something. I hit the tree again, the pain causing more tears to stream out of my eyes. I felt a twinge in my knuckles and looked down to see it had already started to swell to an alarming size.

I made my way towards the weirwood tree, hoping the water would be cold enough for my hand. But, as I came close, my eyes fell on the weirwood tree. Red sap streamed out of the carved eyes in the bark, and collected in the carved mouth. Sitting down, leaning against the weirwood, was Finn. Our father's greatsword lay on the ground beside him. Finn's wrists leant on his knees, his head lolled onto his chest.

As I approached, I noticed the bloodied fist prints scattered across the white bark. Finn's hands were bleeding far more than my own, which was barely scratched. I walked over to him and sat down. I pretended I didn't see his red, stinging eyes. Nor did I want to question the deep scars that sat across his palms.

"For a moment," Finn said in a ragged voice, "I thought we'd get him back." Finn sniffed and wiped his nose with his wrist. "I'm going to kill them all," Finn said hoarsely, "every last one of them."

I clasped his hand with my own, feeling my swollen knuckles twinge. But the pain spurned me onwards, just as Finn's own blood must've spurned him on.

"We'll burn their House to the ground," I promised him. "The name Bolton will be a distant memory in the North." I swore this on my blood and pain as I squeezed his hand tighter. "The North Remembers." I reminded Finn, leaning my head on his shoulder.

"Aye," Finn leant his head on top of mine, watching the trees shudder in the breeze, "the North Remembers."

 **I know this doesn't move the main story arc forwards, but I thought this was important to show, because it fits the tone of my story to a tee. You have the incredibly happy Haylise and Viserys and Lyra and, sure, it's not perfect, but they've sorta managed to find each other and can have a bit of happiness. But, for Evie and Finn… well, the battle wasn't just to take back Winterfell – it was to save Markas as well. And… well, they didn't. That's life, I suppose… or death… or both? I'm not sure.**

 **Next chapter is named '** _ **The Fires of Winter**_ **' and takes place exclusively at Winterfell from 1 person's POV. It's not gonna be an incredibly long chapter, nor will it move the main arc along drastically but… it's gonna be interesting to watch.**

 **Anyhoo, thanks for all the reviews, guys. They mean a hell of a lot – It's interesting to note that everyone loves Corlys and Visenya! I have no idea where this favouritism of Corlys comes from, but it's great to hear.**

 **I'll probably be uploading it tomorrow? It's a chapter that sorta follows on to this one, but I felt like it deserves it's own chapter.**

 **R.**


	23. The Fires of Winter

**So a little announcement – to all of you, our lil' cockapoo Stannis was named Khal Drogo the Doggo, but we've settled on a fitting name: Teddard 'Ted' Bark, Lord of Wooferfell. We regret nothing.**

 **On a very different note – characters dying. This isn't addressed to anyone in particular, but… it's a GoT story. Do you really think most of the characters** _ **aren't**_ **going to die? I mean, come on… it's more of a question of 'how' and 'when' are they gonna die? And also, is it gonna be an honourable, heroic death, or are they going to… I dunno, just get stabbed?**

 **So, this was just meant to be from Alara's POV, but that ended up being a lil' bit too short so… here's some long-neglected Alvar time! It's not an overly long chapter, but as I said in the previous chapter – it's sorta following on in tone.**

 **Alvar Bolton – The Dreadfort, The North**

Fucking wine. I'd drunk all the ale, so now all we had was fucking wine. Like I was some Southnor. I looked up at the serving boy – he could've only been about ten or so.

"Boy," I rubbed my face, "do you like wine?"

"I've not had it before, m'lord."

I kicked out the seat and poured him a cup. "My son never liked wine. He grew up on the Iron Islands, you know?"

"I do, m'lord."

I rose to my feet, swaying slightly. "Drank ale. That's… that's a man's drink." I leant against the fireplace. "He's dead now."

"M'lord?"

"My son. Killed in Winterfell." I tossed the ravenscroll towards the table. "By my nephew." I sighed and walked back towards the table, snatching my cup of wine and sipping it. "What's your name, boy?"

"Benton, m'lord."

"Your friends call you Ben?"

"Some, m'lord."

"I had a friend called Ben once. See, my sister, Maryana, whelped a Bastard by the honourable Bennard Stark." I scoffed. "Didn't marry her, though. No, he came back to marry his sweetheart, Margareth Ryswell." I shook my head. "Kept the Bastard, though. No, never saw fit to have him visit the rest of his family!"

"I'm sorry m'lord," The boy said quietly, looking at his wine.

"It's…" I waved a hand, "it's… I don't know. My son is dead. My daughter is the guest of a Southnor King. My mad wife is most likely dead or imprisoned in Winterfell…" I dropped back into my seat, "It seems all I have left is this castle… and wine." I enunciated my point by raising my cup. "Never have children, Ben. At least, never have children with a mad woman."

"I shan't, m'lord."

"Aye… my sister, Maryana, was meant to marry Elryn Umber. And when she died, it fell upon me to hold that alliance, and marry Ilyana 'the Mad Umber'." I rubbed my temples. "Gods, she depressed me…" I cast my memory back to Melissa Manderly – like Finn Snow must've carried some part of my sister, Alara carried on part of Melissa. Her frizzy brown hair, her small and lithe frame… "At least one of my children has made me proud. Though… I fear she might be dead too." I finished the rest of my wine and walked back to fill my cup again from the jug.

 **Alara Hornwood – Winterfell, The North**

Walking towards Winterfell… well, I had seen the battle as I escaped to the Wolfswood. I'd seen the dragons and smoke and fire. In my bones, I didn't know whether it would be safe to return – if Evalyn Baratheon was the type to use dragons in combat. But upon returning to Winterfell, and seeing that grey wolf on the white banners… I knew that Winterfell was in rightful hands once more.

People moved freely from the Winter Town. Numerous Lords and Ladies, all coming together with flagons of ale. In the courtyard, several hogs were on roasted spits, and children from the Winter town duelled with wooden swords in the courtyard.

I recognized some of the Lords – particularly Lord Rolan Mormont, who marched into the Great Hall, dragging a man chain in iron. I frowned and followed, walking into the Great Hall, which was packed with Lords of the North.

Under Raff's rule, the Hall had been empty except for the Lord's table. On occasion, he'd allow his soldiers and dogs in, but for the most part, Raff had been unable to share. Now, however, it was hard to move. I squeezed myself next to a large woman and watched Rolan drag the man towards the Lord's table.

At the table, sat a girl on side – a woman, really. Her grey eyes were pale – paler than Raff or Thea's… or mine. Her hair was light and blonde, worn down in the true Northern fashion. Her hand was swollen – it seemed that this girl was to be Evalyn Baratheon.

On the other side sat a stocky man. Whereas Evalyn wore an auburn dress with the grey direwolf upon it, he was still clad in his brigandine, clearly visible beneath his heavy cloak. His dark hair was tied back, stubble lined his jaw, and his dark eyes surveyed the soldier in irons as Mormont dragged him to the front.

"You're a damned fucking traitor!" The Oldbear shouted to a Lord that sat on the other side of the Hall. He was tall, muscular, with scars riddled across his face and long ginger locks.

"Peace, Lord Rolan," Evalyn said loudly.

"Tell them what you told me," the Oldbear growled to the man in iron. The soldier stayed quiet until Mormont raised his fist.

"We left the Dreadfort-"

"Left?" Rolan hissed. " _I_ left. You deserted. Who gave you the order?" Rolan's voice was quiet and full of rage. A Northerner's rage. "Who?" Rolan struck the man across the face.

"It was me," The man called 'traitor' by Rolan Mormont rose to his feet. "I deserted Markas Stark at the Dreadfort."

"My Lord?" Evalyn's face fell, her brow stitched tight and her eyes began searching for a reason for something as dishonourable as desertion. But then… hadn't I, in a way, deserted the Boltons? Deserted my family? The man beside Evie didn't seem to react at all.

"Lady Evie," Mormont said loudly, "The punishment for oathbreaking is death. Lord Cerwyn admits his guilt-"

"I pledged my troops to Evie Stark well before you did, Lord Mormont." Lord Cerwyn turned to Lady Evalyn. "I've bled for the North…"

"You left your Lord to die!" Mormont shouted. Lord Cerwyn clenched his jaw as he turned around to face Mormont.

"So did you, Lord Rolan."

Rolan rushed at Lord Cerwyn, swinging his heavy fists at him. Several Lords had to restrain him.

"I love that boy as if he were my own," Rolan snarled, his eyes wet with tears, "He _was_ my own! I loved his father as if he were my own blood, and you as good as killed him!"

"The boy disregarded our advice at every turn!" Lord Cerwyn turned back to Lady Evalyn. "I swore to fight for the North, but not in a battle that we could not win!"

"I swore the same oath as you," Rolan straightened up, "I didn't want to leave- I should've stayed. If only I knew a snake like you were amongst his advisors…" Rolan's lip trembled as he took a quivering breath. "He was good," Mormont sniffed, "he was kind, he believed the best of everyone." I cast my eyes down, unable to look at Mormont without my throat breaking. I supposed that was why his rage was beyond anything else I had seen. It was a father's rage. I remembered Markas, chained up in the dungeons below us. I remembered him saving me – his enemy's bastard. Mormont's words could not have been truer. "Markas Stark could have ruled the North like no other man before him, and you betrayed him! You left him to die!" Mormont spun around to face Evalyn Stark.

"Lady Evie, I ask your leave to execute Lord Ichabod Cerwyn for Oathbreaking and desertion. He admits his guilt."

"Lady Evalyn, I escorted you to Braavos," Lord Ichabod took a step towards the table, "I would not have been able to do so if I'd stayed at the Dreadfort- you used my army to re-take Winterfell! You wouldn't have breached the castle without my men- they would've died at the Dreadfort."

"They just died here instead," Lord Mormont retorted. "Everyone that's died since the Dreadfort… all this horror – it's all because you ran!"

Lady Evalyn clasped a swollen, bruised hand over another. "You betrayed your Leige Lord, Lord Cerwyn."

Lord Cerwyn noded. "I did, My Lady. I chose not to die a fool's death on an even bigger fool's errand. And it's because of that decision that Stark banners fly over this keep. I am the reason we are all standing here; I kept you from going to the Dreadfort and into the Bolton's clutches. I took you east to find him," Lord Cerwyn pointed towards the pale, bearded man beside Evalyn.

"One act of decency does not make you a good man," Evalyn responded, "nor does one act of cowardness make you craven." Lady Evalyn leant back into her chair, stroking her pale oval face in thought. "Lord Mormont, I cannot allow you to execute Lord Ichabod."

The men in the Hall started shouting, standing up in outrage. And I joined them – Markas Stark was the most honourable man I had ever had the fortune to come across.

"This is a fucking farce!" The woman beside me shouted.

"Snow," Rolan Mormont addressed the man beside Evalyn, "talk some sense into your sister!"

This man must've been Finn Snow – Ben Stark's bastard. It was strange, looking upon him. Would I be so dour and serious if my mother and aunt hadn't lied? If I'd been named 'Alara Snow'? Unlike Raff and Thea, who made me despise my own blood, Finn seemed to be different. Perhaps it was the Stark in him, but he looked more focused and mournful. There was some steeled determination in his eyes.

There was a slight resemblance between him and Markas, though I supposed Markas took after his mother. Finn cast his eyes over to Lord Cerwyn, his gloved fist clenched tight.

"We must look upon his actions" Evalyn Stark said loudly over the Lords, "and come to a conclusion as to what his deeds, honourable or dishonourable, have brought about. Only then, can we find a punishment that is fitting!"

Everyone fell silent as Finn Snow rose to his feet, fist still clenched and eyes stuck upon Lord Cerwyn.

"Escort Lord Cerwyn into the courtyard," he said in his deep, Northern voice.

"Finn?" Evalyn said quietly, brow furrowed in confusion once more.

Finn turned to face her, no anger or sadness upon his face. Just as still as one of the wolf statues by the crypt of Winterfell. "Ser Derrick, bring me Ice."

Rolan Mormont grabbed Lord Cerwyn and dragged him outside, along with several other Lords. Evalyn grabbed Finn's arm, "Finn, you can't do this!"

Finn simply continued walking out into the courtyard, following Lord Cerwyn. In the courtyard, the townsfolk and lordlings moved back as wood was tossed off of the chopping block. Lord Cerwyn was pulled towards it.

Evalyn persisted, grabbing Finn's arm and trying to talk hurriedly into his ear.

"Finn, we've not won the war yet- we need his men-"

A ginger man returned (whom I presumed to be Ser Derrick) carrying a large greatsword – the greatsword I'd seen Raff carry. He handed it to Finn, who drew the large sword and placed it on the ground, the hilt of the sword resting in front of his chest.

"Finn!" Evalyn was grabbed by Ser Derrick and carried away, shouting.

"Lord Ichabod of House Cerwyn," Finn said loudly, looking down at the shaking Lord, "I, Finn, Son of Bennard of House Stark, here in the sights of Gods and Men, sentence you to die." Finn parroted the words as he raised his eyes to look upon Lord Cerwyn's. "Would you speak any final words?"

Lord Ichabod opened his mouth as he looked to the two Lords that held his arms. He licked his lips and turned to face Finn.

"Curse my decisions, but I was here to make them. Where were you? I fought this war for so long. I fought for your brother, I fought for your sister… I even fought for you." Lord Ichabod let out a scoff, "Lord Snow… now you've appeased them once. They'll expect you to keep on doing so." Lord Cerwyn shook his head, "Til the day you die."

Finn turned to face Evie, who was still held by Ser Derrick. She shook her head. I saw Finn's eyes look down towards his blade as his hands loosened. He let out a small pant of breath as his shoulders dropped before he raised the greatsword up high and brought it down quickly, slicing Lord Ichabod Cerwyn's head clean off his shoulders.

 **Damn… another one bites the dust. I know, I know, I'm killing off lots of characters, and it may seem like I'm doing it 'just cos' but… I mean, there's consequences to actions. Also, every death in this story is actually a catalyst. Even the seemingly most random deaths are still gonna be playing a certain part in this story. So… you can dislike your character's death and stuff, but one thing we need to focus on – everyone's upset because of their attachment to the character.**

 **Markas for instance – I** _ **so**_ **wanted to write a reunion between him, Evie and Finn. But, that's not the story I want to tell. Anyhoo, I won't get into details about themes in the story – PM me about it if you wanna get in-depth.**

 **Next chapter is called '** _ **Spearwife**_ **', and takes place at Castle Black and King's Landing.**

 **One last thing – it's great to see how many people are enjoying this story and it's plotlines. I know this chapter will divide some readers, but like… hate the characters, not the writer.**

 **Okay, that's about all. Remember not to get attached because everyone will die.**

 **R.**


	24. Spearwife

**So, apologies for the delay. I'm starting to write a novel for my MA – it's quite different to GoT. Plus, I had dinner with a bunch of friends who I'm not going to see again for a while so… bit busy over the past few days.**

 **Also, to whoever said the waiting time will be long… dude, it's been 4 days, gimme a break. Go take a walk or read a book or something. After writing 210,520 words in a year and a half, I think I've earned a bit of time off…**

 ***Sigh* That's annoying. I guess I'll have to write this chapter angrily… who knows what I might do?**

 **Julian – Castle Black, The Wall, The North**

The Wildling girl was quite tall, even when sitting down. The candlelight illuminated her face, all sharp and pointed, with a hooked nose that reminded me of the ravens kept by Maester Orgyn. She was chained around the neck and waist to a pole, her wrists chained together. She still wore her grey and white furs that bristled against her thin neck.

"I thought you might be hungry," I said, placing the bowl of stew and bread on the floor, sliding it towards her. She kept her reddish-violet fixed on me. "It's not poisoned," I assured her. She remained silent, her thin lips still as stone.

I let out a sigh and walked away towards the writing desk and grabbed a chair, pulling it in front of her and sitting down. Part of her breeches were rolled up, revealing her pale slender leg. Some of the hair was still matted with blood, but most of it was hidden beneath a bandage.

"Is it feeling better?" I asked her. She quickly moved her hands to pull down her breeches. I scratched my head. "I'm sorry… I didn't want to do that." She scoffed in response. "I know you probably don't believe me." I held my hands around the burning candle. "Are you warm?" She didn't move. "I wanted to ask you some questions," I removed my cloak, "about this… this horn I found. It was made of glass, hidden in this cave…"

"Dragonhorns," She rasped – I jumped in response. "You know of these?"

"I do. I found one, Beyond the Wall."

She tried to move forwards, only to be constricted by the chains. "You summoned Freyja?"

"Freyja?" I frowned. "Is that what you call the Ice Dragon?"

She nodded. "You tried to use the dragonhorn?"

"I didn't. I picked it up and it just… shattered."

She shook her head. "The dragonhorns must never be used."

"I didn't try to use it!"

"Then why is it here?"

"I don't know!" I stood up. "I don't know why."

"You Southnors," She scoffed, "you do not understand."

"Then help me," I knelt down, "tell me how to… how to make sure it doesn't happen again."

"Why would it?"

"The Lord Commander." I glanced over my shoulder and listened for anyone passing by. "He wants to use it. I tried telling him different, but… but if you could talk to him-"

"I won't talk to King Crow."

"Crow?" I frowned.

"You. You're crows."

Crows? I supposed it was because we wore black… and perched on top of the Wall? Though, I remembered seeing it from the ground. We almost certainly looked like crows in the distance – figures in black atop a white Wall and under the white sky.

"This isn't about pride," I urged her, "this is about survival."

"Survival?" She raised a pale eyebrow. "We came to cross your Wall because of survival. You killed us when we were fighting for our survival. Don't think I'll listen to you now."

"What do you mean, you were fighting for your survival?"

"Freyja."

Freyja? What did she mean? I knew that the Ice Dragon had destroyed that village, but… It hit me. That's why the Wildlings marched South.

"You were running away." I looked into her eyes. "You didn't want to attack us, you just wanted to pass through the Wall."

"There were children," She said, eyes dropping, and teeth gritted. "They wouldn't have been able to climb."

Will was wrong. Wildlings weren't here to attack us. They weren't an army, they were refugees. More children, more mothers, more families…

What was worse than realizing that was realizing this was all my fault. I'd touched the dragonhorn and… all the horror that had befallen the Wildlings was because of me. I was responsible for the slaughter and murder of thousands.

Even Aeron Targaryen hadn't killed that many people.

"You could've asked us for help. Sent an emissary or…"

"Ask a Crow for help?" She rasped incredulously. "You call us Wildlings. You don't help the Free Folk. You just kill us." She tried to rise to her feet. "Freyja nearly wiped out my mother's clan four hundred years ago. You didn't help us then, why would you now?"

"Because I swore an Oath," I took a step towards her, "I swore to be the Watcher on the Walls. The shield that guards the realms of men." I turned away from her. "The rest of the dragonhorns – they're guarded as well, aren't they?"

"Some of them. Others are hidden." Will was a friend of mine. He'd seen what had happened. Perhaps he would listen to me? Surely he would – he was my Brother. He was rowdy and often boisterous, but he was a Brother of the Night's Watch. "I'll return with more food tomorrow."

"I don't want a Crow's food-"

I turned around to cut her off. "My name is Julian. And without my food, you'll starve."

"Why does that matter? You've been killing us for years."

I bit my lip. "I've killed enough people for a lifetime." Her reddish eyes bore into mine, but I wouldn't flinch away. I stared back at her. Finally, she gave a nod. Offering her hands.

"Igne," She rasped in her guttural voice.

"What?"

"Me. My name's Igne."

I looked at her wrists. I'd seen her kill two men atop the wall in a single breath. She was a killer, and still a Wildling, despite being a refugee. She was a prisoner, and I was her captor. I gave her a nod and exited the room.

 **Aeron Targaryen – The Red Keep, King's Landing, The Crownlands**

"… And the Dornish hordes will soon carry on down the Prince's Pass and into the Stormlands." Lord Lucian glanced at the parchment again and rubbed his chin, "What with the Stormlanders being sparse with their men and the Reachmen already stretched thin…"

"That's not a concern," I insisted, rubbing my temples. Lord Lucian gave an apologetic look to my Master of Coin, Lord Oroville Tyrell, and leant in closer to talk to me.

"Your Grace, the Dornish hordes are barbaric. If they break the Tyrell lines, they will set the Reach on fire…"

"And then I'll set their sands and stones on fire!" I hissed at Lord Lucian. "Right now, I'm more concerned with the fact that my Oathbreaker of a brother is still alive! And now he's helping the Northernors…" I scoffed, "the barbarians of the North…" I closed my eyes and breathed in deep. I was a King. And snapping at my advisors was not kingly. I had to be more like Father – he was a true King. I was not weak like Draegor or a soldier like Viserys – I was a Dragon.

"I apologise, My Lord." I turned to face Lord Lucian. "The Princess Laena will provide support astride Helyax. I'm sure the old beast will be glad to destroy something…" I faced Lord Oroville, "Helyax will be glad as well." To my surprise, Lord Oroville didn't return my smile. For a moment, it was as though he glared at me. "My Lord?"

He must've known about Ashriel. But, I hadn't done anything wrong! She was simply more obedient now – she was who she was meant to be. Or, maybe he knew about Theadosia. What if he did? I… it was wrong of me to lie with another woman, but I was a King! A Targaryen King. As Theadosia had said to me before, Aegon the Conqueror took two wives. Other Targaryen Kings had continued the practice.

But I didn't want another wife. I wanted to start my family with Delyth. But… the Dragon's fire inside me was untamed and wild. I was only half-Westerosi. The other half was the blood of Old Valyria. My brothers and sisters never had to wrestle with these conflicts. They were born out of duty to provide heirs. I was born from passion – that passion had spawned me, and it was more a part of me than Targaryen or Baelish.

Finally, Lord Oroville smiled. "Forgive me, Your Grace, I am just… well, I'm worried about my men. Fighting the Dornish…"

I nodded. "Princess Laena will attend to them." I turned to Lord Lucian. "I have a matter to discuss with you, My Lord." Lord Lucian bowed his head and looked at me attentively. "Sorry, Lord Oroville?"

"Ah, yes, Your Grace." Lord Oroville swept into a deep bow and exited the chamber.

"Lord Lucian, I have been considering my heir…"

"Is there something wrong, Your Grace?"

"No, it's just… Aegon married his sisters to preserve the blood of the Dragon. My father's blood." I took a sip of wine to steady myself. "There are two ways forwards. Either my first-born must have a Targaryen bride, or I must have another child…"

Lord Lucian's eyebrows rose for a moment. For a non-Targaryen, he was surprisingly unshaken. "The Princess Laena?"

"It seems best. That or my aunt Vysella," I sipped the wine again. "I would have your opinion."

Lord Lucian's eyes flickered over to the doorway Lord Oroville had left through. "I see why you sent him away."

"Lord Oroville… well, I heard of his time at battle. Just as I've heard of yours. He's a… well, I thought Baratheons were cursed with a temper…"

Lord Lucian returned my smile. "Dowager Vysella is more advanced in years. Princess Laena is more likely to bear a child."

I nodded, "This is true." I stroked my jaw. If I had children by two mothers – one I loved, and one Valyrian… I hoped they wouldn't make the same mistakes my brothers did. Laena most of all, but… even Visenya, whom I had always favoured above all. Even Draegor, when I helped him after he lost his sight. "All I ever wanted was to be their brother." I told Lord Lucian as I drank my Arbor Red again. "But never did they greet me as one."

 **Elecia Tyrell – The Red Keep, King's Landing, The Crownlands**

Lady Theadosia's chambers were immaculate. Clean and tidy just as she was. With the golden sunlight slipping through the curtains of scarlet dragons, illuminating her curvaceous body. An ample bosom and hips, I imagine she was the fantasy of most men. If I was younger, I'd have felt threatened by her, maybe.

Though I'd inherited my father's delicate features and passed them onto my daughters, I'd never had Lady Theadosia's lust-invoking lips or breasts. But, I'd learned how to make do without them. After all, I was challenged in my youth to compete with other beauties of the Reach for the hand of Oroville. And those lessons had been well-learned. My youngest, Delyth, never had to learn these lessons. And it seemed her husband was in danger of fathering bastards because of it.

"Lady Tyrell," Lady Theadosia cocked her head to the side as I entered.

"Lady Bolton." I clasped my hands. "Allow me to extend my families condolences for your brother."

Lady Theadosia furrowed her brows for a moment. "Oh, of course." She let out a chuckle, as if it was a common thing to forget. "That's alright, Raff was always a dolt." Her gaze lingered on the cup of wine by her bed. "I wish I could've seen him."

"We always wish we could have said something more."

"No." Lady Theadosia picked up the cup of wine. "I wish I could have _seen_ him."

I frowned at her lips spreading into a smile as she sipped her wine. There was something quite… unsettling. As if she was thinking of a secret only she knew. I walked over to her table of fruit, picking up her small knife and using it to cut a wedge out of the orange.

"I know that Kings have mistresses," I informed Lady Theadosia, "King Rhaegon had Lady Dyanne. Aeron has you…" I turned to face her, "but he is also married to my daughter."

"You'll have to excuse me, My Lady," Lady Theadosia said nonchalantly, "I'm not as well-versed in twaddle as you Southnors."

"You'll stay away from my daughter," I informed her, "as you will stay away from Aeron. Dyanne was Rhaegon's mistress because he didn't love Vysella." Theadosia walked towards me, plucking the orange to slice. "But Aeron loves my Delyth. _I_ love her. As I love Ashriel. And I'll not have you touch them."

Theadosia grinned again, her plump lips parting into a coy smile. "Are you threatening me?" She simpered. "How darling of you," She said in her best Southern accent.

"I know what they call my Delyth." I mimicked her smile. "The Foolish Flower of Highgarden? But every rose has thorns, My Lady. And if you continue to disrupt my daughter's marriage, you shall see how sharp mine are."

Theadosia's eyes fixed on mine as the corner of her lip curled and she let out a chuckle.

"I adore you, My Lady," she said, taking a step towards me, her fingers fiddling with my necklace. She was trying to unnerve me, surely. But I wouldn't be deterred – I was an older woman. I was familiar with these types of intimidation, though I had not received them from a woman before. She pressed her lips against mine as her hand slid around the small of my back, turning me towards the bed. "Your spirit is… intoxicating."

I felt something pierce my jaw, and cold steel impaled my tongue. I tried to keel over and cough, but she held me in place. I gripped her wrist, to try and remove the knife from my mouth, but it was stuck in place.

The knife went up further into the roof of my mouth in a slow, agonizing motion. My sight began to fade as Theadosia pressed her body closer to mine, kissing me again as blood trickled over my lips. I fell backwards and the knife was removed, slicing my throat as I hit the bed. I began coughing, all air escaping my neck as I tried to hold it together with my hands. Theadosia giggled.

"Delyth is going to be _so_ angry with me…"

 ***Sigh* Look at what I've done… Just to remind you all that House Bolton is still alive and kicking. Everyone hates Raff, but I've always thought Theadosia was more cruel and vicious… for obvious reasons.**

 **Yes, add Elecia Tyrell to the list of the deceased. That reminds me – in the next instalment, I will include a list of everyone who's died and everyone who's alive and where they are in Westeros.**

 **Next up is '** _ **A Stark of Winterfell**_ **', set in… well, Winterfell, quite obviously, but also a bit of King's Landing and also Dorne. It'll probably be up after the weekend, as I'll be busy meeting the new pup.**

 **So, erm, yeah.**


	25. A Stark of Winterfell

**First off, thank you all for your support in the whole 'take your time' thing, but I was just kinda making a joke. You know, 'I'm annoyed… I'll just kill a character on a whim'. I suppose sarcasm is hard to convey but… well, no worries – it's really reassuring that there's people that really want to read the next chapter.**

 **Wow, all those characters sent in – it's awesome! I'm loving my new characters. We're coming up on 70 named characters – that's not even including people like Florian Hightower, Kenn Stark, Captain Hura etc etc. So, like… crazy.**

 **Anyhoo, this chapter is very Winterfell-oriented. It's because I didn't really have much of a story to tell for the other characters, but I didn't want to just act as if they don't exist. I promise, the next chapter will be a lot better.**

 **6 chapters left? How did that happen? This is most likely going to be the longest instalment so… man, I really hope you guys are enjoying the ride. It's been kinda phenomenal to create this 'world within a world' with you all and… I dunno, I'm just really happy to have you all on board. In fact, it's this prolonged support that's got me thinking of other SYOC's set within this universe. But, that won't be for… well, a while.**

 **Vysella Targaryen – The Red Keep, King's Landing, The Crownlands**

Laena had always been difficult as a child. Much like Draegor, and similar to Visenya, she demanded attention. However, whereas Draegor loved attention and Visenya naturally exuded charisma, Laena simply hated being ignored. And, being the second-born and a girl, she learnt that she would never be given as much attention as her brothers at a young age. And so, she adopted the persona of an unruly and wicked dragon.

I thought Laena would've changed after her chambermaid was driven to the point of setting the bed aflame while she slept. But it seemed the deformities upon her face only served to steel her nature. Always jealous of Visenya's beauty and ease with others, Laena was often known as 'the Burnt'. A name that paled once it was common knowledge that she burnt Winterfell on the orders of the naturalborn Usurper, Aeron. Laena Targaryen, the Princess of Ashes.

Laena sat opposite me in my chambers, drinking wine and wincing slightly as the red drink dripped over her corroded skin.

"Have you seen the Maester? He could brew you a tonic…"

"Or a poison," Laena replied curtly. I glanced my eyes over to the door, expecting to see it burst open by the titan, Lord Mikal Drake. Thankfully, it stayed firmly shut. I turned back to Laena.

"You shouldn't say such things."

"He won't kill me yet," Laena said with a sigh. "He wants a child with Targaryen blood."

I nodded. "He's always had a keen mind."

"I won't carry a bastard's bastard."

"Rhaegon legitimized Aeron with a King's decree; Aeron wouldn't dare name any child of his Waters."

"I don't care about that." Laena grunted as she stood up. "I won't have him spill his seed inside of me."

"Then he'll continue to try," I warned her. "Laena, you need to think about leaving."

"Leaving?" Laena frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"King's Landing… it's not safe for you anymore."

"Nowhere is safe-"

"But it's dangerous here." I looked over to the door again. "Once you give Aeron an heir, there'll be no need to keep you alive. You'll just be a constant reminder that there are _other_ Targaryens with more claim to the throne."

"Aeron won't kill me while Viserys-"

I placed a hand on Laena's. "I cannot tell you how much it warms my heart to know my son is still alive. But he still could have died. He still may. And if he does, Aeron will have no need for you as a hostage."

"What about you, mother? You're a hostage, also."

"I know, sweetheart. But I've no dragon. I'm growing old… I was already besieged back on Dragonstone. I've been ready to die for a time now."

 **Vorian Dayne – The Prince's Pass, Dorne**

The Martell forces arrived at long last. My mother's banners of the speared sun swept along the stone pass like an orange sea. I sat next to my captain, Hura, drinking a Dornish red as we watched fresh soldiers strengthen our patrols. Uncle Nyra, five years my elder and youngest brother of my mother, rode up towards me in his lovely armoured robes.

"Nephew, we didn't expect you to have taken the pass…"

"Desert Dogs are not the most obedient," I said with a smile to Hura, who grinned and poured more wine into my goblet.

"But they are the most loyal," Hura responded.

"I'll submit a garrison of twenty men to help you maintain control over the Pass." Uncle Nyra told me, "Another garrison will head to the-"

"Twenty men?" I frowned. "I'll need three times those numbers in order to break through the Tyrell lines-"

"You'll be doing no such thing," Nyra stated. "King Jiridun has no wishes to take land we cannot hold. We shall remain in our Kingdom, and erect walls to repel the Targaryens and their…"

"The Targaryens are not disheartened by walls." I stood up and pointed at my uncle. "Lest you remember, they have dragons. Winged beasts? Breathing fire… Quite. Fucking. Loud."

Nyra dismounted his horse. These fucking men – born noble and never had to fight in battle. Now all he cared about was throwing his weight around. Orders from my uncle, the King.

"Remember your place, Dog," He growled. "Or I shall forget the blood we share."

"Dogs are vicious," I replied, "they often bite. Aeron the Usurper killed my youngest brother. He killed Edgar." I reached over to grab my spear from the sand. "I swore that I would kill any and all that stand between my brother and I. Be they Reachmen, or kin."

Nyra scoffed. "You and your measly pack of dogs will stand against the Reachmen alone?"

"We made it this far."

"And if you get to King's Landing? You see the, what was it- 'fucking loud' dragons?"

"Then I suppose we'll die gloriously in the name of family. Not cowering behind walls."

 **Evalyn Stark – Winterfell, The North**

I had been sat in my room for one day since Lord Ichabod's beheading. I knew that he betrayed Markas, and Finn did have his reasons for executing him but… right then and there? We needed Cerwyn's men to win the war. Seven Hells, Finn had already lost the Battle for Winterfell until Viserys and Visenya arrived with their dragons.

The Cerwyn forces were marching home now. I don't think all of them wanted to, but they were scared of being called 'Oathbreaker' by their fellow soldiers. I couldn't blame them – I'd have done the same.

But, what's more is that I had given a ruling. I was Lady of Winterfell now, and Finn completely disregarded me. It was as if he hadn't even noticed I'd come to a decision. Or perhaps he just didn't care. I didn't know which was worse.

I sat in my room, trying to write down all the alchemic recipes from my mind. I couldn't remember them all. I was half way through correcting my recollection of a poultice when the door knocked.

"Enter."

The door opened and Finn walked in. He looked like Father in his large cloak, though he was younger. I cast my eyes away from him and scratched my quill against the parchment.

"You didn't join me for lunch," Finn said, his voice still hoarse.

"Why are you here?"

Finn bit his lip and walked forwards, producing a series of books wrapped in a belt. He set the heavy tomes down at my writing desk with one hand.

"The men recovered some books from the library that didn't perish in the fire or be torn apart by Raff's…" He shrugged and cleared his throat. He glanced around my room; my bed, my cabinets, my old dolly that I'd found stuffed under my mattress. Finn picked it up, smiling as he turned it over in his hands. "You should be in Father's chambers."

"These are mine."

"You're the last Stark of Winterfell, Evie. Father would've wanted you to-"

"I like mine," I said firmly, pausing from my writing to look up at him, "besides, wouldn't you feel more at home in them?"

Finn frowned and set my doll down on my bed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Ever so clueless. Standing around in my room and telling me where I should be. Not so much as an apology. I let out a scoff and returned to my writing. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Finn linger before he cleared his throat again.

"Can you take a break? And walk with me?"

"I'd rather not," I replied curtly.

"Evie," Finn said as I looked up to his dark eyes wide and trusting, "this is serious."

Walking along the battlements of Winterfell, I could see everywhere. Castle Cerwyn in the distance, with the armies marching. In the sky, two dragons spiralled around each other, echoes of their screeches shaking across the sky. Finn's eyes lingered on them as one hand rested on the hilt of Father's greatsword, Ice. The Lord of Winterfell always wielded it – it was mine, by right, I suppose. But… well, I'd never had an intention of fighting with a blade. Finn could use it, but- well, I didn't want him to think that I was supporting him in acting this way.

"We need to shore up our walls," Finn informed me, "if Alvar Bolton presses an attack and we can't close our gates or defend our castle walls, we'll lose the-"

"Is that why you brought me down here?" I raised an eyebrow. "To tell me about battleplans _you've_ already made?"

"It's your home as well, Evie." Finn turned to me. "You've a right to know."

"Oh, I do, do I?" I shook my head and walked ahead. "How noble of you…"

"If you've got something to say, Evie, then say it."

"You shouldn't have done that."

"Done what?"

"You know what."

Finn let out a frustrated sigh. "How am I supposed to fight against traitors and Oathbreakers if I don't execute traitors and Oathbreakers?"

"Markas never executed anyone-"

"Well, I'm sorry, Evie, but I'm not Markas!" Finn's voice cracked just as much as mine when saying his name.

"Yes, you're not a Stark, as you keep on reminding us all…" I rolled my eyes. Finn grabbed my arm and stopped me.

"Do you think that I _wanted_ to do that?" Finn asked me quietly. "You think I don't know that Cerwyn soldiers are leaving because of it?"

"Is that so hard to believe? You've always been as dull as rocks – you didn't think things through, you just acted first as you've always done."

"He betrayed Markas, Evie. _Markas_. The law is clear, and I will continue to carry out the law as Father would've…"

I let out a growl of frustration. He hadn't seen Father in four years – he had no idea how Father would've acted. "You could've imprisoned him," I insisted, "you could've had someone else execute him."

"No I couldn't, Evie."

"Why? Why did _you_ have to kill him?"

"Because that's what Father taught me!" Finn rubbed his forehead. "Killing isn't something to be taken lightly. If you can't take a man's life yourself, maybe he doesn't deserve to die." Finn put a hand on my shoulder. "Evie, I know Father and Markas tried to protect you from all this, but this is how war is. It's how it's always been. There are always enemies on both sides."

"Who's next then? Lord Glover? Lord Rolan? Lord Jon?"

Finn's face hardened. "I will deal with the Lords of the North however-"

"Oh, clearly. You're such a natural leader, Lord Snow…" I enjoyed seeing his brow furrow in confusion and hurt. He deserved it – things had changed since he'd left. I walked towards the battlements, watching the Cerwyn troops leave. What a dolt Finn was.

"That's the heart of it, then?" Finn barked at me. "It rubs you wrong that the men listen to _me_ now? The Bastard of Winterfell?"

"It's not like that, Finn, you know it isn't!" I spun around and pointed a finger at him. "You wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for me! Markas is dead, Tylan is dead, Father is dead, Mother is- everyone is dead, Finn. Father's name is kept alive solely through me. I was here, surviving, while you were off gallivanting with any common whore you could-" I caught myself quickly. I was angry – I didn't mean to say that. Out of respect for the dead, and what she meant to Finn, and what she had done for me. I suppose I just… I wanted Finn to be upset. And I'd succeeded; Finn scowled and recoiled, a face cracked with pain as his dark eyes narrowed at me. "I didn't mean that," I quickly said, grabbing his hand, "Finn. I'm sorry."

"Is this the sort of person you are now?" Finn was taken aback. "You care more about who's in control rather than what's done?"

"I care that you undermined me in public, and killed one of our strongest allies! How are the Lords of the North going to listen to me now?"

"If you want to lead the North, lead the North!" Finn snapped at me. "You might have been here while I was off with whores, but I gave up my life across the Narrow Sea for this castle. I was the one on these castle walls, fighting for it!"

Finn leant against the battlements and breathed deeply. I'd never seen him serious when we were growing up. Back when I was Little Evie, always crying when he big brothers wouldn't let her play with them. Always trailing them around the keep with my dolly as they re-enacted Great Wars.

"We never used to fight like this," I stated, looking at the space in the courtyard where Finn knocked Markas a little too hard on the head once.

"Of course we did." Finn scoffed. "It's just that Markas used to force us to make up."

"He did?" I frowned at Finn.

"Why do you think my sparring swords kept ending up in your room?" Finn muttered, "Markas would always force us to talk."

I grinned at the memory. Although Markas wasn't a great fighter, he knew people. Knew how to make them talk and band together when they needed to. Perhaps that was how he got so many Lords of the North to follow him.

But, Markas was gone. And now it was just me, and my half-brother, Finn.

"Finn, I know you want to do whatever Father did but…"

To my surprise, Finn didn't interrupt me. He just looked up when I grew silent. "But?"

"Finn, Father wasn't smart," I confessed. "He made reckless, stupid decisions. Markas made reckless decisions. And now you're going around, executing Lords without a second thought… I know you're not used to it, but you need to start listening to me."

Finn bit his lip again, slowly nodding. "Okay, fine. What do we do next?"

I took a breath to ready myself for Finn's criticisms. "Viserys has two dragons, and if we swear-"

"Oh, aye, go South and fight another King's war - that's sound advice, that."

"He won the battle for us, Finn. You'd lost before he arrived with his sister. And he has two dragons." Finn shook his head and started to walk away. I jogged to keep up with his long strides. "If we bend the knee and swear fealty, he'll ally with us against the Boltons…"

"Evie, you just said I need to be smarter than Father. Marching South and fighting a King's war is _not_ smart. That's exactly how this war started."

"Aeron burnt our keep," I stated. "He burnt Storm's End- I was there! He can't remain on the Iron Throne…"

"Who says he will?" Finn said nonchalantly, "Maybe the Targaryens will all kill each other and we'll reclaim the North as an independent kingdom."

"Then what? You'll call yourself King?" I let out a chuckle of disbelief. "What, Finn Snow, the King Who Re-Claimed the North?"

"Don't be ridiculous…" Finn stopped and turned towards me. "I'm trying to protect us, Evie. We're the only ones left. We only have each other, and I…" Finn clasped my shoulders, "I need your support."

"I won't support you in a stupid decision."

Finn shook his head and turned to face the courtyard below us. The masons had just exited the Crypts of Winterfell. Finally finishing the statue of Markas, I supposed. Finn's broad chest rose heavily before he murmured quietly to me. "Tell Lord Rolan I'll be with my brother in the Crypt."

 **I will be setting chapters in the Vale, King's Landing and Castle Black, but most of the chapters are going to be based in Winterfell for obvious reasons – they're going to be more interesting to read about. There'll be some King's Landing coming.**

 **Now, I know what you're all eagerly awaiting for Viserys to talk to Evie and Finn and so on, but patience is a virtue. The next chapter is named '** _ **The Realms of Men**_ **' and takes place at Castle Black, Dragonstone and Winterfell.**

 **I'll probably upload it after the weekend – I want to get through this instalment as quickly as possible so I can properly plan the fourth & final instalment.**

 **R.**

 _ **P.S.**_ **Can everyone say in a review whether they'd want a short prequel to this series? There's been some interest, but my next project after** _ **Three Heads of the Dragon 4**_ **will either be this prequel or a story with a new cast… or, mostly new… as I said, too many ideas.**

 _ **P.S.S.**_ **Can we appreciate that the acronym (or is it initialism?) for this series spells '** _ **THotD**_ **'. Gotta love life's little jokes.**

 **Okay, I'm done now. See y'all next time!**


	26. The Realms of Men

**Yeah, last chapter was just… yeah. BUT, on the other hand, this chapter is gonna be a lot more… well, just go ahead and read.**

 **I hope you're all watching Season 8 as well! I don't think anyone will, but let's keep clear of GoT spoilers from this new season in the reviews, yeah? At least for, like, a week.**

 **Wyllis Blackwood – Castle Black, The Wall, The North**

Dalton Lannister and I were sat on the wooden railings of the gallows that were being constructed. Old, sodden planks being lumbered together in the centre of the courtyard of Castle Black.

"Will," Dalton said in his usual bored tone, "let's do something."

Dalton Lannister was a little taller than me. His green eyes had streaks of gold from the pupil – just like he had streaks of liveliness to his voice. His Lannister-gold hair fell to the nape of his neck. All the whores at Mole's Town probably clawed each other over who got to suck his cock.

"Like what, Dalton?"

Dalton groaned and hopped off the wooden railing. "Let's see the new recruits come in."

"And do what to them?"

Dalton shrugged, rubbing his chin. He looked over to one of the Stewards carrying a plank of wood. Orys Storm was a a strange Steward, on account of his sheer size. Dark brown hair, I never much did care for him – usually it was the pampered little lordlings from the Reach who didn't like the Wall. Not that any of us really liked it, but we got used to it. Somehow, though, Orys Storm still kept to himself and didn't talk to anyone. His nose was always stuck in some bloody book.

"Orys will have something for us," Dalton let out a small whistle and Orys came hulking over. "Morning, Stormlander." Orys remained quiet, shrugging at Dalton. "Please tell us you've something for us to do, we're dying of boredom."

"Go see the Maester, he'll have a book for you…"

"We don't want to read a book." I scoffed. "Let's go to Mole's Town."

"Yeah, go digging for some buried treasure," Dalton chuckled.

"I've no gold," Orys replied. We both looked to Dalton.

"Oh Seven Hells…"

"You're our brother, Dalton…" I wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "And, I mean, Lannisters _do_ shit gold…"

"My _uncle_ shits gold. But if you don't believe me, you can check the latrine trenches."

"Lannister, Blackwood, Storm," Lord Commander Karstark's voice called from up above, "I hope you're not working yourselves too hard."

Lord Commander leant on the railing, looking down upon us all.

"My Lord, we were just telling Orys to hurry up!" Dalton said innocently.

"Oh, aye?" Lord Aleksander's beard curled as he grinned. "How's about you both help him and you'll all be done quicker?"

I groaned and rolled my eyes. "Nice one, Dalton…"

"Shut up, Will…" Dalton hissed back. We both began to move towards the edge of the courtyard to collect more planks of wood for the platform when the doors to the barracks slammed open. Julian marched down to the courtyard, no fur cloak on.

"Here comes trouble…" Dalton said in a melodic tune.

"What in Seven Hells are you doing?" Julian shouted up at the Lord Commander, who straightened up, a hand holding his longsword.

"My duty to the Realm."

"Your duty? You're hanging a girl! Have you lost your head, old man?"

Lord Karstark's hands gripped the railing. "Old man?" He growled. "Who am I?"

"What?" Julian frowned.

"Who am I?"

Julian clenched his jaw. "Aleksander of House Karstark."

"And what is yours?"

"Julian of King's Landing."

"Are you a Brother of the Night's Watch, Julian of King's Landing?"

"Yes."

"Am I your Lord Commander?"

"Yes, M'Lord."

"You've been here barely a month, _boy_. I've been a Brother of the Watch for twenty-three years."  
"M'Lord, I don't think-"

"That's your problem, Julian. Your place is not to question my orders at every turn. You must start thinking less!"

"Fine." Julian nodded. "I'll just do your killing, shall I?"

"You'll do whatever you are ordered to…"

"Lord Commander," I spoke out, walking to Julian's side, "he's clearly not well. He hit his head atop the Wall when he fought the Wildling girl. I think he needs rest – he's not himself."

"He fought the Wildling girl?" Lord Commander Karstark was surprised. He nodded. "Julian, remain in your quarters until dawn. You're on first watch. Dalton Lannister, Wyllis Blackwood, you may take his Watch tonight."

Dalton groaned. "Oh, for fuck's…"

"Build the gallows. And mind that this one minds his tongue." Lord Commander Karstark pointed at Julian. "As you were, Brothers." He turned around and entered his room. I turned to Julian, letting out a sigh of relief.

"What the fuck's wrong with you, Julian?" Julian scoffed in response and turned to walk away. I jogged to catch up to him. "You swore a vow…"

"I'm know."

"You can't keep causing trouble."

"Then why don't you go make the gallows a little bigger for me?"

I shook my head. "Julian, what's wrong with you? Has that Wildling bitch been putting some… some witchcraft on you or something?"

"She's a girl, Will. Not a witch!"

"What's that?" Dalton asked as he sauntered over. "Is Julian fucking the Wildling whore?" I had to put an arm in front of Julian to stop him from leaping at Dalton. "Oh, he definitely is…"

"You're not helping, Dalton!"

"I'm not trying to, Wyllis."

"Julian," I pushed him back, pointing a finger at him, "You saved our Brothers up on that Wall. You're one of us. But I will not risk my own neck for you."

"So much for Brotherhood…" Julian spat the words at me before leaving the courtyard, marching up the stairs and entering the barracks, slamming the door behind him.

 **Corlys Velaryon – Dragonstone, the Crownlands**

Eight hundred ships. Upon each of them were legions of Celtigar soldiers. This was the first ever Valerian Fleet; Six hundred of the ships had a sea green sail emblazoned with the silver seahorse of my House. Two hundred had the red crabs of House Celtigar. But on six hundred of the ships, there were Celtigar soldiers. Only two hundred of my own ships held my own army.

The Targaryens may have ruled the sky, but House Celtigar ruled the Sea. Vast and deep, full of creatures stranger than those you'd find beyond the Wall. After Rhaegon crushed the Iron Raids by setting the Iron Fleet aflame some twenty years ago, my House had been uncontested in our strength at sea.

Maegar Celtigar, however, felt differently. After his wife's death at the Siege of Dragonstone, he had demanded a younger, prettier wife, and more soldiers committed to his banners. Though I may have had three times the ships, I didn't have the army to carry on them.

Lord Maegar and I stood by the War Table, looking out at the approaching red-and-green sails.

"Thank you for ordering your men to transport mine." Lord Maegar grinned. "True seahorses."

"Well, crabs aren't famous for getting anywhere fast." I replied. "When King Viserys and the Princess Visenya return, we'll co-ordinate our attack with the Knights of the Vale and the Tully-"

"Corlys Velaryon." Lord Maegar scoffed. "Lord of Tides, Master of Driftmark and Hand of the King."

"If only," I replied.

"I'll take my orders from my Nephew, the King, Lord Velaryon."

I clenched my jaw. I knew he was trying to goad me into an argument. He always did so, but I straightened up, unable to keep my tongue barred.

"When Eraela Targaryen wed you, she stopped being a Princess and became a Lady. You didn't become a Targaryen, My Lord. And she died before the King was even born. So, if you think you have authority because you were once his mother's sister's husband, I'd urge you to think more carefully."

"Insolence…" Maegar hissed, "I'll sail my men home…"

"With what ships?"

Maegar grimaced, looking over to the fleet and growling as he walked away with his grumbling. I sat down in my usual seat at the War Table, watching the fleet sail closer. My eyes fell on Viserys' chair. The same place that Aegon the Conqueror sat. Where Targaryens had always sat. I drummed fingers along the War Table before standing up, stroking a hand along the back of it. This was the most I could ever have. Standing there beside it, a hand resting upon it. But I'd never be able to sit there.

I didn't have any claim. No birthright, but all my life, I'd been raised around Targaryens. Even Aeron was one. But, at least he had a claim. I just had… nothing. When I'd visited King's Landing for a nameday of one of the Targaryens, they'd all be referred to as 'Grace's. I was just a Lord. I wasn't a dragon, just a… dumb seahorse.

 **Lorra Reed – Dungeons, Winterfell, The North**

I'd never been in dungeons before. We didn't have them in the Neck. I'd actually been attempting to find the crypt when I ended up in the dungeons; I'd simply come to find Finn Snow to pay my respects to his late brother.

I'd thought there was a demon in here. Some sort of spirit. The howling and wails echoed down through the dungeons, full of pain and horror. I walked past the empty cells, closer to the yowls of what sounded like a wounded dog.

Instead, I found a woman in the cell. Rather, a wisp of a woman; her long fingers were skeletal and pale as bone, her cheeks gaunt and eyes enveloped in dark shadows, like a skull. Her eyes, however, stuck out from the shadows – dark, green and cold like stone. Thick greying brown hair had been torn from her scalp, fistfuls of it still in her fists as she rocked back and forth on the cold stone, howling like a wolf.

"Woman!" I shouted. "Be quiet."

Her dead eyes looked up at me. Her cheeks were covered in scars – old and new. But one was thick and fresh – the blood still upon her fingernails.

"A crocodile from muck and mire." The woman grinned, rocking back and forth once again.

"I said, be quiet!"

"A dragon from the south, with fury and fire…" She continued on. "A lone little wolf, left alone in the cold."

I shook my head. "The Gods have cursed your mind."

"You are Lorra of House Reed," She informed me, "You are the only one of them who has it."

"Has what?"

"The Sight," She rose from the ground, "you can see it, can't you?"

I frowned – I'd heard my father speak of the Sight before, but he'd never told me much about it. Just that dreams are more than just dreams. This was what his mother had told him. No-one since her had shared my dreams.

"What do you mean?"

The woman swept across the cell and clutched my hand, gripping it tightly. My entire body was clenched by something, and I arched my back and stared up into the dark ceiling.

The stones all crumbled and fell away, revealing the sky. No… a night sky. But it was still day, wasn't it?

I wasn't me. I was just on the wind. I was sweeping, or maybe being swept, along over the currents of the sea. Dark, angry… it carried the rage of it's rulers – black sails with golden krakens surrounded a small isle. Fire swept through the sky on arrows, war cries sounded.

I felt myself breeze towards the shore, where soldiers adorned with the three-headed dragon sigil huddled behind wooden barricades. Their archers returned fire. Longboats crashed onto the beach.

Running down to fight the invaders was a man, tall and broad-shouldered. Dark hair and darker eyes, drawing a great longsword and raising it up high. I recognized the greatsword…

I felt myself blow upwards, away from the battle on the beach. I soared up a long staircase that wound around the island. I was carried past steel-clad guards and into a large keep, watched over by the stone dragons.

Then, I was inside. Me, in my leather armour and thin cloak. I was physically there, in the large keep of Dragonstone. It wasn't like anything I had ever seen before – no slabs of stone, it was all just… moulded differently. As though the stone had grown in a certain way.

There was a woman there, wrapped in fine red robes, her pale gold hair worn in a simple fashion, down beside her ears, unlike most Southern Ladies. And she was most definitely a Lady. Her eyes were a pale blue. She rocked a small babe in her arms.

" _Sagon nēdenka, riña_ ," She crooned to the babe wrapped in dark red and silver cloth, " _Aōha kepa kessa mīsagon īlva_."

I walked closer to her, examining the babe in her arms. No hair or eyebrows. No eyelashes, even. A newly-born babe, only a day or so old, sleeping beside his mother. His eyes slowly opened to reveal a dark pair of grey eyes.

The woman looked up. Up at _me_. Her mouth opened as she spoke quietly in a strange voice – as though I wear hearing it from under water. Muffled, somewhow.

" _Issa māzis_."

"What?" I frowned.

" _Issa māzis_." The woman repeated herself. " _Se suvion_."

Suddenly, the walls were torn apart. The babe fell to the floor, wailing. The woman's head was cloven in two, and a white snout of a large dragon far bigger than the two I had seen reared it's head. Fierce blue eyes narrowed it me and it opened it's grizzled chops, letting out a mighty roar. It's wings were almost transparent, and the creature reared it's head.

I took a large breath, sucking in the air, my heart galloping. I looked down to see the woman nibbling at my hands, like a pup would. I pulled my hands back, scurrying to the other side of the dungeon.

My dreams had never been like that. I'd never felt as though I was… I'd never seen places I'd never seen before. I slid down the wall, sitting down and breathing hard. I looked up to the mad witch.

"What did you do to me?"

"You share my sight…" She giggled madly. "I can see. I'd always see who was against me. Who spurned me. Demons hiding within the walls…" She poked her temples. "The Sight would tell me." Her greed hungry eyes glinted up at me. I shook my head and turned to walk away. "No, Lorra, don't leave!" She screeched. "Stay with me!"

I pulled my cloak further around my body, scared to look back. I hurried my place and just wanted to go back to Greywater Reach. I wanted to see my little brother, Jaran. I felt safe there. But here, in this castle, with this woman…

I never knew the Sight was something so evil. A dragon? Was this a warning? Would the Targaryens come again to kill us all? We had to get rid of them. Viserys, Visenya – any of them. As long as they weren't in the North, they could fight over their Iron Throne.

 **So, took me a while to write this because deadlines are coming. But yeah, we're coming to a close soon.**

 **The next chapter is called '** _ **Northmen**_ **' (which is a bit bleh, so it may change), and is set entirely in Winterfell. It's… not really a set-up chapter – we're basically just tying up some loose ends.**

 **I'll start writing the new chapter today so it should be up by the weekend at the latest. Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and see you soon!**

 **R.**


	27. The Bastard of Winterfell

**So, guys, this is already the longest instalment. Crazy, right?**

 **Fun fact here – I love how Evie (or should we say, Evalyn) is a fan favourite – in her description she was described as someone who cries a lot, and now she's actually one of the strongest characters in the series. I love writing as her… hence how almost every chapter in the North is from her perspective.**

 **I tried not to rush this, but… deadlines. Anyway, enjo.**

 **Finn Snow – Winterfell, The North**

I'd not seen so many armies together. Not since in Essos, but even then, they were all fighting each other. Tents were stacked next to each other, stretching down to the Winter Town. It reminded me of when father took Markas and me down to Riverrun for the tourney nearly five years ago.

My thoughts were interrupted by a deep voice.

"Finn Snow." Rolan stood upon the battlements next to me. "I feel as though you should have a new name. Snowstark, perhaps?"

"I couldn't care less." I grinned, walking over and embracing him. "Oldbear."

"You know, I remember when you were a wee babe, you were this size." Rolan held his two hands very close together. Gods, I didn't think you'd make it back here."

"Ey?"

"But look at you now, ey? Even grown a proper beard!" He laughed, casting a bare hand across my jaw. "We've not had time to talk properly." Rolan put an arm around my shoulder and looked out across the North with me.

"What is there to talk about?"

"You."

I frowned. "What about me?"

"You killed the Iron Flayer, Raff Bolton. You executed the Oathbreaker, Ichabod Cerwyn…"

"For what good it did me." I dawdled along the battlements, my eyes drifting over to the spot in the courtyard where I had beheaded him. It had felt wrong, but… what more could I have done? "Evie doesn't agree with me."

"When did she ever?" the Oldbear smiled. "Don't fret about Ichabod. He was an Oathbreaker, and Oathbreakers hang…"

"I don't care that it was him." I responded. "It's just that…" I didn't even know how to phrase it. I had done what I thought Father would've, but… _would_ he have executed Cerwyn? I'd seen him execute men before, and Oathbreakers were certainly executed but… why did this still feel strange to me? "Killing's not something I want to do often." I said finally. I cast my mind back to the man I was in Braavos. Ser Baldinar, Blackdog, the Shadowborn…

"Well, only a villain would enjoy it." Rolan informed me. "But this is war. At war, men die."

"Would my father have done that?" I looked up to Rolan. "Killed Ichabod?"

Rolan rubbed a hand down his thick beard, breathing deeply. "Your father would've upheld the law." He said finally. "The law says-"

"I know what the law says, but would he have done it?"

"Perhaps." Rolan nodded. That didn't help. I straightened up and ran a hand along the stubble on my jaw – stubble that was quickly becoming a beard like Father's. "You're a lot like him."

"Not as much as I'd want to be." I responded.

"Finn, men followed Ben because they loved him – believed in him. Whatever he thought was worth fighting for, so did they. And you need to become that man."

"Me? Evie's trueborn…"

"It wasn't Evie fighting beside them. It wasn't Evie executing Ichabod. You've shown them that you can be a leader."

"Well, that's not what I was trying to do." I began walking along the battlements. Rolan jogged up next to me.

"Men followed your father South because they thought he could give them a better life…"

"And it led to war."

"Aye, and it led to war."

I finally stopped as I looked out to the courtyard once more. Remembering the time I had hit Markas too hard on the head with sparring swords. Gods, I couldn't even remember how many days he was asleep. I'd stayed with him each day and night… I still didn't feel as though he had gone. Not really. Not in Winterfell.

"Look," Rolan said as he sighed, "you were an exiled bastard. Now, you're a bastard Northmen can follow. That's a fucking… strange notion, but it's the only one we have right now. Your sister may have claim, but you're the one that fought for them."

I shook my head. "Markas died, Rolan." I didn't care about the castle, I didn't care about my bed or the Great Hall. My brother was dead. Evie and I came back to take Winterfell and though we had it, we still failed. "Evie's should be Lady of Winterfell."

Rolan grabbed the back of my neck. "Evie's not ready for war. She's never fought one, she has no experience. We need a commander to rally behind. The last son of Bennard Stark."

"I'm not a leader. I'm not a Stark."

"Does that matter?" Rolan frowned. "You stood down there with soldiers and were prepared to die for Winterfell." Rolan pointed to the road into Winterfell.

"You don't know me." I remembered Hilario looking up at me. I remembered Belos and Hilario – how I'd driven them to try and kill me. "You don't know the things I've done."

"Aye, I don't." Rolan nodded. "But now, you do what you think is right."

I thought killing Hilario was right, and that pushed Helesa away from me. I thought executing Ichabod Cerwyn was right, and it turns Evie against me. "I don't know how to do that."

Rolan rested his hand on my shoulder. "You find out what you're fighting for. And everything you do from now is in aid of that."

 **Evalyn Stark – Winterfell, The North**

The inside of the Great Hall was packed. Glovers, Manderlys, Mormonts, Blackwoods, Dustins and Hornwoods. All of their troops may have made up for the Cerwyn forces that left us. Maybe.

I'd known that Ichabod Cerwyn held no love for my family, and he deserted Markas, but he still helped me. His men still died re-taking the castle. If Finn could return despite being exiled, perhaps Cerwyn was to be afforded the same chance?

As I walked down to the Hall, I saw Finn sitting in the centre of the Lord's table, in the Lord's chair. Father's chair. I wasn't… I wouldn't have said I was angry, but Finn wasn't a Lord. He was a soldier, a commander, and I loved him dearly but… it was my chair. Winterfell was mine.

I walked behind the table and sat down next to him – as if I was an advisor.

"Rolan sat me here," Finn explained quietly.

I cast my eyes over to Rolan the Grim, who sat with his son, Ser Derrick, amongst the other Lords. "You sit wherever the Oldbear tells you to? Are you a child?"

"It's just a chair, Evie," Finn insisted.

"Then why do you look so uncomfortable?" I raised an eyebrow. Finn nodded to the back of the Hall, where the bannermen of bannermen of bannermen sat.

"I always used to sit down there."

I remembered. When I'd sit up here with Father and Mother and Markas, who would try and persuade Tylan to use his knife and fork and not gnaw at his meat like a wolf. Finn would sit at the back with the castle guards. That was most likely Mother's doing.

"Go on then," I leant back in my chair, huffing. Finn took a breath and rose to his feet.

"My Lords!" The men grew quiet. "Thank you for journeying here. I understand this risk, but this is urgent…"

"You think I came here to listen to a blood Snow?" I recognized the voice of Lord Manderly, who scoffed. "Bolton blood runs in your veins, boy."

"My Lord," I tried to hide my smile, "what my brother is trying to say…"

"Lady Evalyn," Manderly stood up, "you're not a Stark anymore. Your brother wed you to a Southnor Baratheon."

"Mind your mouth, Manderly." Rolan the Grim growled.

"Markas was your Lord," Finn said loudly. He took a deep breath. "I'm a Bastard. I can't change that. I didn't choose that. But whereas Markas' name ruled over the North, mine _is_ the North. It has always been a part of me, and I swear to you all on my family's name that I will never give up on it."

"Which family are you talking about?" Manderly frowned. "Stark or Bolton? Because neither are yours to swear upon. You're a Kinslayer." Manderly walked into the centre of the Hall, facing the Lords that sat around him. "I love Lady Evalyn as dearly as I did her father, but House Stark is done. All that remains is a Baratheon and a Snow." He gestured to a thin, brown-haired woman that sat closer to our table. "House Karstark should lead the North. They are closest Kin, and as a loyal bannerman to House Stark, I claim them as my-"

"Fucking Karstark?" Lord Glover rose from his seat. "I'll not follow a House led by a craven that hides behind his walls and sends his wife to represent him!"

"My husband is the only one who has never submitted to the Boltons, Lord Glover," The thin woman, who I presumed to be Lady Brigot of House Karstark, responded. "And I'll not follow a man who executes his most trusted advisors."

I faced Finn, raising an eyebrow expectedly. I had warned him so, but he never listened to me. Finn rose from his seat. "Lord Cerwyn served my sister, it's true. But he also betrayed Markas. The law is clear and it applies to everyone at all times. If we can make exceptions to the law, then it stops meaning anything." Finn turned to face me, father's dark eyes settling on me as dropped his gaze to the floor. "But you're right. It's wrong to expect you to follow me after seeing me execute one of our own. So I won't." I furrowed my brow at Finn. He was being a fool – had he gathered them here just to send them all away again? "I'm not asking you to serve me. I'm asking you to serve the North." I saw some of the men grumble and roll their eyes – Finn was talking like a Southnor. "This war has ripped our country apart, My Lords! And Winter _is_ coming. We have enemies in the North and enemies in the South. If we do not band together to fight them, then we will all die."

I saw Lady Lorra Reed rise to her feet. I'd always liked her – not only leading her father's House, but also leading them into battle; she knew the strength it took for a woman to command.

"All of us swore to serve House _Stark_." She stated. "But you, Lord Manderly, served House Bolton. It was only when Markas Stark arrived at your gates that you remembered your Oath. The same for you, Lord Hornwood." I smiled. She turned back to face our table. "That man there is the one who took back Winterfell. He killed Raff in single combat. He avenged Bennard and Markas Stark."

Oh, Lorra. What a fool she was. Finn didn't take back Winterfell, I did. It was me who asked Viserys and Visenya for help. Finn was brash and stubborn, as were most Northmen. I'd thought she'd understand that while Finn was a commander, he wasn't a leader. When war ended, Finn would grow idle. He wouldn't ally with Viserys and Visenya Targaryen – his damn pride didn't allow for it.

"I followed you to reclaim your father's home," Lord Rolan said. "You returned my son to me. He executed the Oathbreaker, Cerwyn," Rolan addressed the Lords loudly. "As the last son of my friend and Lord, Bennard, Finn Snow is the only man here I will follow into battle."

'The only man'. Because a man must lead them into battle. I cast my eyes across the Lords, who all began nodding. They were simple-minded – I understood what Southnors thought of us. I understood _why_ they thought it.

A girl stood up, lithe and frizzy-haired. She was pretty, I supposed, in a plain way. She wore a dark green dress, simple and plain, sat next to Lord Hornwood, with a golden moose hanging around her neck. Lord Jacke Hornwood frowned at her, grabbing her hand, though she shook free.

"I served the Boltons as handmaiden to Lady Theadosia," She said loudly.

"Alara!" Hissed Lord Jacke. Many men hissed and began to look towards Finn, whose hand slowly clenched on the table. Would he execute her as well?

"My father swore an oath, and honour compelled me to obey. In his last moments, Markas Stark saved me. He pardoned my father. As his last brother, I ask your forgiveness, and ask to repay the debt I owe to Markas."

Finn licked his lips, staring at the girl. His fist slowly unclenched. "There's nothing to forgive. I welcome your service."

"A fucking woman?" Lord Glover laughed.

"A woman helped re-take this castle, Redbeard," Lady Lorra snarled.

"Who gives a damn about his mother?" Lord Glover rose to his feet. "Markas was a Lord, but we need a warrior. A wolf. Finn Snow is the Black Wolf."

Lord Jacke breathed deeply and rose to his feet. "Your brother pardoned me for serving the Boltons. After he was imprisoned by the Iron Flayer, I thought House Stark was done." He drew his sword, adorned with a pair of broad, golden moose antlers as a crossguard. "House Hornwood will stand behind Finn Snow. My home is yours, my men are yours, my sword is yours – in victory or defeat!"

I shared a look with Finn. That was treason, was it not? Oathbreaking? Swearing to serve someone who wasn't me?

"To Finn Snow, I pledge the faith of Greywater." Lorra Reed drew her sword. "Hearth and Heart and Harvest, we yield up to you. Our Swords and Spears are yours to command. Grant mercy to our weak, help our helpless, and justice to all, and we shall never fail you. I swear it by Warth and Water. I swear it by Bronze and Iron. I swear it by Ice and Fire."

I saw Rolan the Grim give Finn a nod as more and more Lords began to parrot Oaths to Finn. Each one of them betraying their oath to Markas and Father. An Oath of fealty – one that is only swore to their Leige Lord. One that should've been sworn to me.

They all began to kneel. I loved Finn, he was all I had left, but… I was the one who brought him home. I was the one who brought Viserys to save us – Finn had lost the battle. And yet here I was, called a Southnor while Finn, a bastard and an exile, was named… well, I wasn't too sure what he was being named. A Leige Lord, yes, but was he Warden in the North? Was he Lord of Winterfell? Did I no longer have any claim to Winterfell? I hadn't lay with Ryleigh Baratheon, so I wasn't even a Lady of Storm's End.

I was nothing anymore.

 **Haylise Baratheon – Winterfell, The North**

He had changed so much. He was taller with broader shoulders and longer hair. His skin was still pale, and his eyes still dark, though faint scars sat across his face. I could never forget those eyes that had beguiled me into bed.

And now he had returned. For Markas, or for Winterfell, and now he was a Lord. Well… not a Lord but… he was someone with half the Northern Lords as bannermen. I suppose I had changed too – no longer a naïve little girl swooning at how well a man can handle a sword. No longer swayed by gentle words and dark eyes. Now I was a Queen, carrying a little prince or princess inside me, married to a Dragon.

Finn's dark eyes locked onto mine and narrowed as his lips slowly parted. He recognized me.

 **Love some Northern chapters. So, some of you kinda saw this coming, and it's been something in the storyline since, like, day five or so.**

 **So, the next chapter is named '** _ **The Black Wolf and the Doe**_ **', and it's sorta carrying on from this. It'll be set primarily in Winterfell, but there'll be a bit of a scene in (wait for it…) the Eyrie!**

 **The next 4 chapters, actually, will be taking place mainly at Winterfell because… well, there's so many characters there. But yes, 4 chapters left, so we should be finishing this chapter within a couple of weeks.**

 **I'll start writing the next chapter when I can but drop a review and tell me what you think. Feedback is so helpful! See y'all next time.**

 **R.**


	28. The Black Wolf and the Ruined Doe

**This chapter isn't really that long… but I kinda just wanted to write as much as I needed to here.**

 **Also,** _ **wow**_ **I love watching your reactions… someone even said Tylan should kill Finn. Man, that'd be cool chapter to write… Anyhoo, enjoy this chapter. Only 3 left now.**

 **Lilyen Arryn – The Eyrie, The Vale**

All the Knights of the Vale were gathered for one cause – to march South to King's Landing and wrest it from Aeron's clawed grip. Belmore and Borrell, Egen and Elesham, Waxley and Waynwood. I knew that Father would command them, but I'd be by his side. I couldn't help but wonder if I was up for the task of serving under him.

"Lily," Father's voice called from behind me. I turned around to face him, tall and broad-shouldered, wrapped in blue. He wasn't wearing armour – he wasn't dressed for riding. Yet he still held that glorious silver spear of his. A legendary weapon – a mark of his heroism and prowess.

"Father, I thought…" I cleared my throat, "My Lord, I thought it would be best to walk amongst the men in armour. It would lift their spirits to see us ready to fight beside them."

Father's lips crumpled into a smile. "It would."

"Shall I wait for you?"

"No, I…" Father turned to look away to the staircases that led from the throne room up into the chambers. "Your sister is ill once again. I think my presence calms her some."

"I understand." I dropped my head to the floor. Sarissa was always falling ill. And Father always doted on her. I, on the other hand, was healthy, and so never needed doting on. It didn't mean I didn't want it, however…

Father placed a hand on my shoulder. "I know it's been difficult for you. Since your mother passed and… well, there is no-one else I would rather have leading the Knights of the Vale down to King's Landing."

"Me?" I asked. "On my own?"

Father glanced his eyes up to his spear and then offered it to me. I stretched a hand, uncertain, and took the Silver Spear from him. Valyrian steel spearhead, a light wooden shaft wrapped and reinforced with steel. Adorned with sapphires and silver, it was as ancient and proud as our House.

"As High as Honour," Father told me, "that is the weight of our name. And I am sure you shall bear it proudly." He rested a hand on my shoulder and smiled. "You are my daughter. An Arryn of the Vale, equal of any man on the battlefield. Never doubt that, Lilyen."

I nodded. "I shan't, My Lord."

Father took a breath and then straightened up. "As you were, Lady Commander." He smiled. I swelled with pride and honour. Let Sarissa have her beauty and Father's attention; I wished her well. I had my father's trust.

And that was enough for me.

 **Evie Stark – The Great Hall, Winterfell, The North**

Empty of Lords, the Great Hall was quiet finally. I sat there, prodding around my pork with a fork. I knew that I was lucky to have this food, and still remembered starving as I travelled the Kingsroad from Storm's End to Winterfell. But it didn't feel right to eat in here; where mother used to sit. I'd failed her. Finn Snow, the person she hated most in Winterfell, was now… whatever he was.

He sat in Father's chair, drinking from a horn of ale and settling his eyes on the tapestry that was being hung in the Hall. I'd thought Raff Bolton would have destroyed it; Father stood with Markas, and I stood by Mother. Finn wasn't on there – no matter how many times I'd asked Mother to change it. I'd always treated him as my brother, but perhaps Mother was right – perhaps all Bastards were ill-tempered and full of sin.

"Evie," Finn said quietly, "I want you to do something."

"What? Oh, sorry… What, _My Lord_?"

"Don't call me that, Evie."

"Why not? They swore you an oath of fealty, pledged you loyalty and bent the knee…"

"I didn't ask for that, Evie."

"You didn't refuse it, either." I scowled. Finn nodded, rubbing a finger along his beard as he glanced down into his horn of ale.

"Evie, I want you to have Father's chambers."

"Oh, but I thought the _Lord_ should stay in those chambers."

"Exactly."

I stopped stabbing at my pork and looked up at Finn slowly. His heavy dark eyes rested on my own light grey ones as I tried to figure out whether he was trying to do something here. Was it a test? Some kind of ploy to appease me?

"Is this a joke?" I asked hesitantly.

"They may have sworn me loyalty, but they can't give me Winterfell." Finn shook his head. "It's not theirs to give. It's yours." Finn dropped his eyes back over his uneaten lunch. He leant back in his chair, breathing deeply. Finn looked… not sullen or morose like Markas was. No, he looked disappointed, as though there was some huge weight resting upon his shoulders.

"But they don't serve me," I said quietly. "They serve you."

"What do you want me to do, Evie? Do you want me to refuse them?"

"I didn't say that…"

"Then tell me what you want me to do."

I suppose that I did want Finn to refuse them. But not that – it shouldn't have happened in the first place. They followed Finn because he was the last son of Ben Stark. Just because of the fact I was born a woman, I was seen as unfit to lead.

But Finn had given me Winterfell. Or, rather, not accepted it. That was something, I supposed. Perhaps it was the most he could do.

"I don't mean to act like this." I put a hand on Finn's. "It's just… I-"

"You felt like everyone forgot about you because you weren't born a man." Finn nodded. "I had everything you wanted and you had nothing." Finn rose from his chair and walked to face the tapestry he was absent on. "I know what that's like; I was jealous of you and Markas my whole life. The way people said your name, sitting up here for feasts, the way Lady Margareth looked at you… I wanted that." He turned back to face me. "I wouldn't wish that sort of thing on anyone. Least of all you."

"Finn, you're still my brother." I rose from the table and approached him. "Winterfell is still your home, regardless of whether you're a Lord or a… whatever you are now."

Finn took a deep breath and flickered his eyes over the tapestry again. "I'm just a Bastard, Evie. That's all I've ever been."

I looked up to the tapestry, where Mother's belly was swelling with Tylan. Tylan deserved to be in there. So did Finn.

"Not to me." I slipped my hand into Finn's, gripping it tightly as we ran our eyes over the tapestry. I took a deep breath. Lady Evalyn of Winterfell. As for Finn… I frowned. "Do I have to call you Lord Snow, or something?"

The corner of Finn's lip pulled up into a grin and he shook his head and rolled his eyes. "So, Lady Stark." Finn turned to face me. "Viserys Targaryen."

"Yes?"

"You said he saved you at Storm's End."

"He did."

"Do you think he can be-"

Finn was cut off as the doors opened and Haylise entered. Her belly was swelling, her black hair longer and free of any gold finery. She wore one of mother's dresses, dark grey and with blue Direwolves across the shoulders. Her blue eyes widened as she looked towards Finn, who returned the look. I frowned, looking between the two of them.

"Your Grace," I said to Haylise.

"My Lady." Haylise approached the table. "My Lord," she said to Finn. He cleared his throat, looking over to me.

"I should… go and have my things moved." I wiped my mouth with the kerchief and curtsied to Haylise before exiting.

 **Haylise Baratheon – The Great Hall, Winterfell, The North**

He hadn't changed… not too much. True, he was bigger now, and looked to be more of a man, but his eyes were still the same. A little more tired, perhaps. His face was still long, though nicked with scars.

I remember his breath prickling my sweated skin, hair mangled together, his kisses covering my entire body. There was so much warmth back in that bed, untethered by politics and matches made by parents. Now, everything felt cold. I was detached from him so heavily, his dark eyes running over me, taking in every detail as if it were the first time he was seeing me.

"I didn't know if you wanted to talk or…" Finn said quietly. His Northern accent wasn't as harsh as some of the other men in Winterfell, though it was not as soft as Evie's.

I looked over to a tapestry that hung beside the Lord's table. I recognized Evie and Lord Bennard Stark, and there was a woman with child who clearly must've been Bennard's wife. There was a boy there too – dark hair, brown eyes… fairly scrawny at his young age. Markas, I presumed.

"How did the Bastard of Winterfell become a Lord?"

"I'm not a Lor-"

"I'm not deaf, Finn." I cut off Finn with a raise of the eyebrow. He let out a small chuckle.

"How did you end up Queen of the Seven Kingdoms?"

I cast my mind back to meeting Viserys for the first time. Because of… what had happened with Finn, the only way I would have a husband would be in a match by Father. Then, Aeron murdered Draegor, and I had to flee, leaving Lyra and… "It's a long tale."

"One best served with wine?" Finn asked, walking over to pour a cup for me. I looked at the red wine, frowning slightly, a hand resting on my belly. Father said that mother never drank when she was with child. "I know, the North isn't known for its wine."

"I'm with child."

"Right." Finn nodded. "Of course." He drank the wine instead. "Congratulations."

"And you? Any children?"

"What, a bastard's bastard?"

"You could've been married."

"No… well… there was someone." Finn's dark eyes drifted off to the burning candle as his smile faltered slightly. I felt a pang of dislike for whatever woman Finn spoke about. Not a lot… just a smidgen. "She passed, some time ago."

I nodded. "I'm sorry." After a moment's silence, I felt as though I had to address something – a question that had been burning in my mind since I had spoken with Markas in the dungeons. "Your father exiled you. After…" Finn nodded. "That's why I never heard from you?"

"Father said that… that that sort of thing can start a war. So, he gave me a choice; Take the Black or travel East."

"You chose East?"

"At least I can still fuck over there…" Finn muttered. He paused, rubbing his brow. "Sorry, that's… probably not what you're used to… Your Grace."

I smiled – though Northerners were dour and sullen, Finn at least had a spark of charm to him. Maybe Evie got it from the same place as he did?

"I never told anyone," I informed him. "I didn't want anything to happen to you. But… I suppose none of it really mattered in the end."

"No, I suppose not. But thank you, all the same."

"I should thank _you_ ; you killed Raff Bolton."

Finn's face hardened as he hand closed around the horn of ale. He gave a curt nod. "Aye."

"Good." I faced the candle light, remembering him burn my hand with a torch… it still didn't look right. I hadn't taken the glove off around Viserys, in case he thought me ugly now. Fire could not harm a dragon – how weak and helpless I would seem to him. "I hope you made the villain suffer."

"He's dead, it doesn't matter."

"Maybe not to you." I turned back to face Finn. "How did he die?"

Finn tapped his finger against the table. "I stabbed him."

"And?"

"And I beat him."

"And?"

"That was it."

"He deserved worse…"

"He deserved to die and he did," Finn stated. "It doesn't matter how it happened, only that it did."

I scoffed, rolling my eyes at Finn. "You remind me of Viserys."

Finn's face scrunched up. "Some pampered little prince? Really?"

"He's not like that…"

"If you say so."

"I do."

"Fine," Finn said with a smirk as he sipped his ale.

"So, what title do you have now? Lord? Warden? King?" I gave a mock of a gasp to Finn, who grinned.

"Your husband might not disagree with that."

"Well, it would endanger the alliance…"

"What alliance?"

"I- you…" I narrowed my eyes, brow stitching itself together in confusion as I blinked rapidly at Finn. "You're _not_ allying with him? Finn, he saved your life…"

"Aye, and my father saved his mother's life," Finn said as he stood up, drinking from his horn of ale, "I'd say he was settling a debt."

"There is more than just the North in the world. There's more than just the Boltons- we _need_ you to fight with us."

Finn turned around, a look of anguish and offence painted across his face. "And what is it I'd be fighting for? A King? A Queen?"

"You'd be fighting for justice."

Finn took a step towards me. "I _am_ fighting for justice," He growled.

"I thought you were fighting for home?"

"The North _is_ my home-"

"And King's Landing is theirs!" I insisted, standing up as well. "I don't have a home; Aeron took that from me. And my husband has lost everyone but his sister and his wife to him. So don't pretend this is just about a crown, because Viserys is fighting for something that actually matters!"

Finn nodded, chewing his tongue. "And I'm not?"

"Not as much."

Finn placed his cup down on the table. "I've lost my appetite. I have to check on the repairs… Your Grace."

"Finn," I called after him as he walked, "talk to him. Viserys, he… you'd be a fool not to listen to him."

"Oh, would I?" Finn turned to me.

"I thought the North Remembered those who helped and harmed it. Viserys saved your sister, and he saved you too. Even if you don't want to, don't you owe him an audience?"

Finn licked his lips and nodded slowly. "Aye, I do." He took a breath. "I'll gather the Lords."

"The Lords?"  
"We're working together, Haylise. So we have to make a decision together."

 **Ooh… not what you were expecting? Everything was expecting sex… well, I suppose I have not had enough naked people for a GoT story but… I find it hard to write sex scenes (pun unintended). Still, I guess I have sex it up for you guys… ya filthy animals.**

 **On a serious note, thanks for all the support guys. I'll get to work on the new one this week. The next chapter was originally called 'The Dragon and the Wolf'… then of course, that's an episode title, so it was changed to 'The Bold and the Bastard' but I've decided to go for something different, so, the next chapter is named '** _ **A Dragon in the Den**_ **', and takes place at Winterfell and Castle Black.**


	29. A Dragon in the Den

**Wow, some people thought they made up real quickly… I've had them sorta conflicting since before the Siege of Winterfell. In my mind, it'd been going on a lot longer but… hey, who can be bothered with a retcon?**

 **Either way, let's roll with it. This chapter is… well, golly, I'll just go ahead and say it, I think it's one of the best I've written in this series. I've been picturing it for literally a year, and… yeah, let's just throw it out there – it's going to be compared to** _ **that**_ **scene in S7E3, so I figured I'd pay a few little nods to that scene, which you'll all pick up on. That being said, I like to think this scene is still quite different – let me know what you think!**

 **So, as a lil thank you for your patience with my spotty uploads, here's another chapter!**

 **Visenya Targaryen – Winterfell, The North**

The Great Hall was dark and murky. Dimly lit and cold. Were Northerners so dull they had not figured out that not everyone can see in the dark? I suppose they didn't even know that the sun existed.

The Lords and Ladies of the North eyed us with great suspicion. Perhaps there was an inkling of sense in their heads after all. Though, the thought of them fearing us because of Aeron's actions… it turned my stomach.

At the end of the Hall, sat the Bastard, Finn Snow. The Lords chair usually sat in the centre of the table, yet he now sat on one side, and his half-sister, Lady Evalyn Stark, sat on the other. I'd never have guessed they were related; Finn's hair was dark and thick, his eyes darker still, faint scars sat across his face and he was clad in a brigandine (like most Northmen) and a steel gorget. Lady Evalyn, on the other hand, had pale blonde hair, lighter grey eyes, and wore a fine black dress, adorned with the silver Direwolf, it's fur styled like armour.

I walked besides Viserys, who kept a hand wrapped around the hilt Dark Sister at his hip. Ever the soldier. I walked with confidence – I was a Dragon, a Princess of the Realm, and by the Seven, everyone here would know it as well.

"Standing before you is Viserys of the House Targaryen," I stated loudly, looking around at the Northmen. "Rightful King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men. Rightful Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. The Lord of Dragonstone. Last trueborn son of King Rhaegon and Queen Vysella. Viserys the Bold." I turned towards him; he'd paid no mind to my words. Good; he was learning. He couldn't afford to look in wonder at his introduction, though I know he wanted to. This was more complex than any battle. This was diplomacy.

The Bastard, Snow, cocked a dark, scarred eyebrow. "What a mouthful," I heard him mutter to Lady Evalyn, "do you think she has to say that every time?" The corner of Lady Evalyn's mouth twitched.

"You stand before Finn Snow and Lady Evalyn Stark-" A man with a ginger braid stood up from a table close to Viserys.

"No, that's not necessary…" Lady Evalyn said.

"-The Bastard of Winterfell, and-"

"Okay, thank you, Ser Derrick. That'll do," Lady Evalyn said with a polite smile. The man bowed his head and sat down. I looked back to the table and saw Snow rubbing an eyebrow and shaking his head with a grin. "Welcome to Winterfell, Your Grace. We're honoured to have you in our halls."

"The honour is all ours, My Lady," I said. "Winterfell is a true…" I tried to find the words. I suppose it was beautiful, in a cold and dreary smallfolk's way. "Kingdom."

Snow let out a small chuckle and turned to exchange a look with Ser Derrick, drinking from a tankard of ale.

"Thank you, Your Grace." Lady Evalyn smiled. "King Viserys has spoken highly of you, and I am only saddened that we have to meet upon such unfortunate circumstances."

There was a grumble around by the Northmen, who rolled their eyes and scoffed and shook their heads. Evalyn passed a look around, and some of the men did quieten. She looked to her Bastard brother, who stopped chuckling and stamped his tankard on the table. A great deal more men quietened down, watching my brother and I in anticipation.

"It truly is a beauty." Viserys walked forwards. "I've never visited the North, but I surely shall again. Lady Evalyn," He smiled, "without your aid, I surely would've lost my wife and our babe. For that, I am eternally in your debt."

Lady Evalyn's face fluttered with a shade of red – I was hardly surprised. The poor girl had grown up with a group of ugly wolves, of course she would swoon upon being addressed by the beautifully bold and boldly beautiful Viserys Targaryen.

"It is a debt I seek to repay you too, My Lord-" Viserys said to the Bastard.

"I'm not a Lord," He replied curtly, not bothering to look Viserys in the eye. Viserys cast a look over to me. We knew what the North thought of us – it would have been foolish to expect them all to be as smart as Lady Evalyn.

"No." Viserys nodded. "No, I suppose you're not. Finn Snow, isn't it?" Viserys turned to face me.

"Finn Snow, Lady Evalyn's Bastard brother," I confirmed. Of course, Viserys already knew this, but he was setting the Bastard in his place – Viserys had learnt a lot since leaving King's Landing.

"My brother," Lady Evalyn said to me. "Finn is my brother, regardless of name." Finn flickered his eyes over to her, smiling slightly. Strange – I didn't imagine him to be able to smile without someone being mocked.

"When I heard that Evie Baratheon was calling her father's banners with a company of sellswords, I was relieved. Your sister is my kin, by marriage…" As another wave of grumbles swept through the Hall. Snow's fist clenched slightly. "And I was relieved to hear that she survived. As was my wife." I noticed the Bastard's jaw clench slightly. "But… forgive me, My… I didn't hear anything of you." He said to the Bastard. Lady Evalyn turned to face Snow, continued drinking his piss-ale.

"Why would you?" He asked.

"Well, you lead these men, as I heard. The Bastard of Winterfell, now the Lord of-"

"Winterfell doesn't have a Lord." Snow cut him off casually, setting his tankard down on the table. Of course the Bastard would not know his courtesies. If it weren't for the Northern brutes surrounding us, I would've reminded him. "Evie is Lady of Winterfell, as is her birth-right."

Viserys faced me – I hadn't expected this either. Aeron did more than just cling to his claim, he'd killed Draegor to make it. Yet here was a Bastard proclaiming his sister as Lady. I smiled at the thought – if only more men were willing to accept women as rulers. Though, the odds were that this Finn Snow was just an idiot.

"What I mean to say," Viserys said, "is that you have taken your brother's place in leading this men."

"I didn't take anything."

"Regardless, you are the one these Lords have bent the knee to? Despite your sister's _trueborn_ claim?"

Lady Evalyn glanced down at her lap. She clearly was not very happy about this. I saw the Bastard's hand clenched around his ale.

"If you have a point, please find it quickly," Snow said through gritted teeth. Viserys nodded.

"Very well. I require your assistance in claiming the Iron Throne. House Tully and House Arryn have already sworn fealty-"

"Once more?" An imposing giant of a man rose from his table by my side, riddled in scars and thin greying hair. Most of his beard was still vibrant and red, however.

"Please, Lord Glover…"

"March South and fight their bloody battles?"

"Peace, Redbeard." Lady Evalyn was curt.

"Don't quiet me while these Southern Dragons march in and demand we die once more, girl!"

"You shall address me as Lady, _My Lord_."

"Or you'll do what?" He snapped. Lady Evalyn opened her mouth and closed it again. At that moment, the Bastard Snow rose from his seat.

"Say it again," He growled. The brute Glover blinked, his scowl fading slightly as he faced the Bastard.

"Snow, I was just…"

"Say it again or sit back down."

Lord Glover took a deep breath, casting his green eyes over me before returning to his seat with a grumble. Snow lowered himself back into his seat, his dark eyes lingering on the older man.

"House Tully and House Arryn support my claim," Viserys continued, "not to mention the Valeryon and Celtigar fleets." Viserys faced Lady Evalyn. "I need the North with me. The Realm is split, and the North is the last Kingdom yet to declare."

Lady Evalyn looked around at the Lords, her eyes dancing across me and, with a glance to her Bastard brother, she dropped them back into her lap. "It's not my decision to make," She said. Viserys looked towards the Bastard Snow, who stared down into his tankard. Had he even heard what my brother had said? Did he care?

"No," he said finally.

"No?" Viserys frowned. "You must not've been listening…"

"No, we won't assist you and House Tully and House Arryn."

"My- Your…" I shook my head, "Apologies, but I'm not quite sure what to call you."

"Oh, I'm sure you know _exactly_ what to call me." Snow glimpsed a look from his tankard. I clenched my jaw. This man infuriated me.

"Your ancestor, Tohrren Stark, swore to serve our family. Would you break faith? Dishonour the House of Stark?"

"I cannot break faith." Snow leant back in his chair. "I'm not a Stark."

"You can be," Viserys said suddenly. I turned to face him, brow furrowed, as did several Lords.

"What?" Lady Evalyn spluttered.

"Viserys," I said lowly into his ear, "we should talk about this…"

"Bend the knee, commit your men to my cause, and I shall name you as Finn Stark," Viserys continued, "Warden of the North so that you may survive your father's House-"

"Why would I do that?" The Bastard asked loudly, as if there was some anger deep within his stomach. He rose from his chair. "Meaning no offense, but you don't care about the North. You only care about claiming the Iron Throne, and your family would just use us as pawns, just as you did in the Iron Raids, and I would not be worthy of my family's name if I accepted it for my own ends. The Lords of the North have put their faith in me to lead them, and I will not lead them into another King's Southern war!"

There was stamping through the Great Hall as the simple-minded wolves slammed their tankards into the tables, spilling ale everywhere. Viserys scoffed, looking around.

"You all feel this way? Aeron burnt this castle once before! If I fail in my war against him, he will surely come and do so again! Your sister is a Baratheon, and Aeron will not rest until he was wiped their House from the land."

"Then I wish you good fortune in the wars to come," Snow responded. Viserys clenched his fist to the point where it began to shake.

"You are to be a true Northern fool then, are you Snow?"

"Viserys…" I warned him quietly.

"Aye, I am." The Bastard began to rise from his chair.

"Finn!" Lady Evalyn hissed, clasping his hand. He looked down on it and closed his eyes, breathing deeply and settling back down once more. She raised an eyebrow. The Bastard nodded.

"You saved my sister's life," He said, nodding to one of the men who rose from the back and walked up to us carrying a wooden tray. "For that, you'll find no foes here as long as you stay. You have my word." Upon that tray was a small bowl of salt and a collection of bread. Viserys frowned at me. I took the bread, dipped it into the salt and took a bite. It was awful… though, not the worst taste I'd had in my mouth. "But I also saved your wife and unborn child," Finn snow said. "And for that, I'd say the debt is settled, _Your Grace_."

I pulled at Viserys' arm. I knew he wanted to say something, but there was no reasoning with Bastards. True, this one was… well, I would've said he wasn't as evil and self-serving as Aeron, but what Bastard could be?

He'd still taken his sister's birth-right in leading the North. I would never have done something like that to Viserys; after I found out he was alive, I didn't hesitate to think about how I had gone from being a Queen to a Princess. It didn't matter to us, because we were Dragons – great in a way that transcended titles.

We were Targaryens.

 **Igne – Castle Black, The Wall, The North**

Julian wasn't like most of the other Southnors in the fact that he was more of a Southnor. He didn't share the same accent, he wrapped himself in more furs and he didn't curse as much. Maybe he was the son of some high-born Lord, come to the Wall for Honour in slaughtering us.

I still wasn't sure if he was tricking me in some way. He was a Crow, and Crows killed the Free Folk as they had been doing for hundreds of years. There was only one Crow who didn't hate all the Free Folk, and he was surely dead or dying by now. From what Mother had told me, he served at the Nightfort, so… at least I wouldn't meet him here.

A strange wooden thing was being built in the courtyard, a rope over a platform. I looked to Julian.

"Is that what you use to throw things over the Wall?" I asked. He turned around, face crumpled up.

"What? No, no, that's not a trebuchet."

"Oh," I cocked my head to the side. "What is it?"

"Gallows," he said.

"Gallows…" I tried to figure out what it could be used for. Something for kids to play on? Julian's eyes were heavy on it, so… it probably wasn't that. But of course, why would the Crows build something just for me?

"That's what's going to kill me, isn't it?" Julian nodded solemnly. "Why not just cut m'head off?"

"That's more for the high-born," Julian said. "Hanging is for the lowest of the low."

"Why does it matter?"

"What?" Julian frowned.

"I'm dying anyway, what's it matter?"

"It… it matters, Igne." Julian walked away from the window and sat down at the table. I was grateful for him releasing me from the wooden pole in the room, though my hands and ankles were still chained together. It crossed my mind to run but… all them Crows out there with swords. I needed my spear to stand a chance – my mother always told me that when a man took me from my village, I was expected to fight.

"What's dragonfire reserved for?"

"Enemies of the Targaryens," Julian poured himself a horn of ale. I frowned at this. What was a Targaryen? "Don't tell me you haven't heard of the Targaryens. Even North of the Wall…" I shook my head. "They rule Westeros. Our… all the Kingdoms, everything behind the Wall."

"Your King Crow ain't a King?"

"No!" Julian chuckled. "We give up our titles when we come here. He was a Lord."

"And you?"

"I was a smith. Well… a smith's apprentice."

"So why'd you come here?"

Julian looked down at the horn of ale. "It's not something I like to talk about."

"So?"

Julian let out a laugh – he was nervous, for some reason. He finished the horn of ale. "My father died while I was young. My mother married his brother…" I nearly retched – marrying the brother of your man? It was something the Old Gods scowled upon. "And then I was raised by my uncle, Riler, and his son…" Julian paused to drink more ale. "His son, Roto. He was as my brother."

"You kill him, then?"

"Not me. King Aeron." Julian's brother had tried to kill a Southnor King. It's a shame he hadn't come to the Wall. I would've like him. Julian shared his blood though… she shared the blood of a boy who wasn't a kneeler. "We had to leave the city and… I ended up here."

"What about your uncle?"

"Oldtown, last I heard. Down in the Reach."

"The Reach of what?"

Julian shook his head again. "It's one of the Seven Kingdoms. Near where I used to live."

"Why didn't you go there then?"

"You ask a lot of questions, do you know that?"

"Yes."

Julian grinned – an ugly sight, with his twisted teeth. He was shorter than a lot of the men here as well. But his eyes were deep and brown, able to keep a girl warm on the coldest of nights.

The door opened and two Crows entered. One was tall and hairy, carrying one of them big swords on his back. The other was prettier than any of the boys or girls I'd seen in the North. Golden hair, green eyes, a little shorter than the other, a hand resting on his small sword.

"The Wildling's not chained to the post," the golden-haired Crow said, "are you fucking her?"

"Of course not," Julian replied.

"I'd fuck her," He cocked his head to the side, examining me. "Never fucked a Wildling before…"

"Why would you?" The hairy Crow raised an eyebrow. "They're _Wildlings_."

"Come on, girly," The golden-haired Crow took my hands, "let's chain you back to the post-" He quickly let out a pained yell as I sank my teeth deep into his hands as he grabbed me. The hairy Crow pulled him away from me, and Julian rested his hands on my shoulders.

"Julian, get the fuck away from her," the Hairy Crow said, taking out a dagger.

"It's okay," Julian said, eyes on me, "she'll do what you say. Just don't touch her."

Julian understood. He knew I wouldn't stop trying to escape – I wasn't a kneeler. I was a spearwife, one of the Free Folk. A true Northerner. He stared deep into my red eyes with his brown. "She'll do what you say, won't you Igne?"

I'd spoken with Julian twice. He was a Crow, and Crows were the enemy but… he hadn't mistreated me. In fact, he'd been more gentle than half the men in the North. If a Crow helped one of the Free Folk in the past, maybe it could happen again? I wanted to escape home, warn my people that we'd failed to take Castle Black. And I could use Julian to get my spear back. I gave a short nod.

"Can she do tricks as well?" The golden-haired Crow asked. "Because I'll teach her how to play dead…" He gripped a hand around his dagger.

"Dalton, she's a prisoner, of course she's not going to try and attack us."

"Then we need to break her in like a horse-" Dalton, the golden-haired Crow, began to draw the dagger.

"You'll do no such thing," Julian said, a hand gripping his own dagger. Dalton and the hairy crow looked to Julian.

"Julian, she's a Wildling…" the hairy Crow said.

"Aye, and we're Crows," Julian said. "Tell the Lord Commander that I'll continue watching over the prisoner until she's hanged at Sunrise."

"But he said-"

"Damn what he said. Tell him I'll take whatever punishment he sees fit in the morning."

Dalton whimpered, looking at his hands. I licked my lips of blood, grinning at him. He recoiled in horror, taking several steps backwards. "Wildling whore…" Dalton left the room. The hairy Crow looked to Julian.

"How many times have I looked out for you, Julian? I can't keep-"

"Then don't," Julian responded.

The hairy Crow looked to me. "This is the last time," he said quietly, "because I'm hoping this'll help you move on." Julian remained quiet. "In the morning, you'll never disobey the Lord Commander again." Once more, Julian was quiet. The hairy Crow turned around to leave.

"Will," Julian said, looking up to him, "thank you." He took a breath and offered a hand. "You're my brother."

"I know," Will said, clasping his hand. "But the Lord Commander is our father." Will turned to leave. Julian stood in the centre of the room, looking over to me, his eyes flickering over my furs. For a moment, I was worried – what if he did just want to fuck me? Could I use that to help my escape?

He glanced over his shoulder, then back to me.

"Where's your spear?"

 **So, that's chapter 29. Only two more to go and… well, I'm finally writing these chapters and it's so great, I've waited ages to write them. Also, this chapter wasn't meant to be this long so I hope that's okay.**

 **I know I'm uploading this shortly after another couple of chapters, but I do want reviews on this chapter in particular. So, I probably won't be updating until the weekend… unless I decide to procrastinate again.**

 **The next chapter was going to be named 'The Dragon and the Wolf', but again, there's an episode named after that. So, instead, I'm calling it '** _ **Fire & Blood**_ **' unless I can think up a better title. It takes place entirely at Winterfell with POVs of Viserys and Visenya (Man, I forgot how awesome it is to write as them – Visenya in particular).**

 **Anyway, I'm rambling. Enjo!**

 **R.**


	30. Fire & Blood

**Well, as promised, here's the penultimate chapter, just snuck it in at the weekend. Tell me what you make of it.**

 **Viserys Targaryen – Winterfell, The North**

I sat in my bedchambers – old and stone and cold without a fire in the hearth. Luckily, Lord Snow had seen it necessary to have a boy build one for us. Or perhaps this was an insult in his eyes? What a contemptuous man…

"I don't think I've ever dislike a Bastard more…" I muttered to myself, watching the boy leave the room.

"What about Aeron?" Visenya said idly, pouring herself a cup of wine. "Snow's honest. He's a dolt and full of sin, but Northmen are always honest." Visnenya glanced down at her cup of wine. "Perhaps because they don't have the intelligence to lie…"

"I can't believe I expected him to follow…" I hissed, pacing across the room. "Mother always spoke highly of the Starks."

"He's not a Stark," Visenya said in her awful attempt at a Northern accent, "remember?" I did remember. Finn Snow wasn't a Lord, he hadn't spoken to many Lords before, or been at court in King's Landing. He could be as easily moulded as any country bumpkin. And who better to do the job than Visenya Targaryen?

"I need you to talk to him," I said. Visenya lounged across the bed, frowning at me.

"Me?"

"You have a…" I tried to find the right way to phrase it, "a way with words."

"I doubt they understand most words," Visenya scoffed.

"Well… there are other things you can… do?"

Visenya rolled her eyes and sat up. "You want me to lay down with a Bastard- a _Northern_ Bastard?"

"Of course not!" I scowled. "Just… you remember how you got Addam Lannister to buy you a black pearl?" Visenya replied with a groan, burying her face into the bed. I walked over to her and sat down. "I _need_ this army, Visenya."

Visenya re-emerged from the pillows, shaking her head and holding up her hands. "Fine… fine!"

She sat up from the bed and began leading me out of the chambers and down the long staircases that led to the courtyard, full of pale and scowling Northerners, all spitting on the ground or re-coiling in horror and fear at our violet eyes and silver hair.

"You owe me for this," Visenya told me before running a hand through her hair and making her way towards the Great Hall, her hips swaying.

Distantly in the sky, I could see Broxagon flying. His red and gold horns making him look like a bolt of fire dancing across the sky. I smiled, hearing him roar – he didn't like it up here, and neither did I, but he knew why we were here. Avenging our brother, Draegor.

"I still never get used to them," a voice said from next to me. I turned to see Lady Evalyn there, pulling on her kid-skin gloves, her pale hair worn in a long, straight fashion. Like a proper Northern Lady.

"My Lady Baratheon," I smiled – she was the only one here who didn't hate or fear us. Well… maybe she did fear us, but I hoped that she at least saw me as a friend. "I don't know how you manage with the cold up here…" I said, pulling my fur-lined cloak tighter. Lady Evalyn simply smiled. "I think you're the only person here who doesn't want me dead…" Lady Evalyn remained silent, strolling across the courtyard with me. "I'm not speaking in riddles you know. Your brother _is_ breaking an Oath – his ancestor swore to serve mine, he's bound by honour to answer the call…" I shook my head, looking to Lady Evalyn's attentive face. I took a breath. "You probably don't care…"

"Of course I do." Lady Evalyn frowned, as if this was obvious. "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you. I wouldn't have found Finn, he wouldn't have brought back sellswords, we wouldn't have taken back our home…"

I shook my head. Finn Snow was an up-jumped Bastard. He'd fought in no great wars, had no birthright, and certainly had no dragons to compel people to follow. I had all of these things. Yet I had to go from Kingdom to Kingdom begging and bargaining in order to get followers. Yet this Finn Snow didn't even have to ask, and people came to his aid. Lifted him up high. Why him? I deserved this, so why did he receive it?

"How do I convince a man who hates me to follow me?"

"You think Finn hates you?" Lady Evalyn sounded surprised. I shook my head.

"Maegar Celtigar was right. I shouldn't have come here, the name 'Targaryen' is cursed up here, everyone wants me dead…" I took a breath – what was I even doing, asking Visenya to use her woman's ways. That wasn't how I wanted to rule. That was closer to something Aeron would do.

"I wish there was something I could do…"

"You could talk to him. You're his sister, you can make him see reason-"

"He won't march South on my word alone- or yours, for that matter. Why would he? There's just… no reason for him to."

"No reason? I'm the rightful King!"

"When Markas was young, he used to pretend to be the King in the North. It didn't stop Finn whacking him with a wooden sword…"

"I could make you Wardeness of the North!" I said finally. "And- and then you could command them to march South…"

"They chose Finn."

"And I'm choosing you."

"I'm not someone they'll follow into battle," she said, "that's not me." I let out a scoff and shook my head.

"I should just leave…" I turned to walk towards the Great Hall.

"You hardly sound like the same man who fought Aeron and his dragon at Storm's End," Lady Evalyn said with a smile. I frowned, looking towards the Great Hall, and then back to Lady Evalyn.

"Why _do_ they follow him? You may be a Baratheon but… he's just a Snow."

Lady Evalyn looked around. "You're in the North. Ask Lord Glover, Lord Mormont…"

"You really think they'll talk to me?"

Lady Evalyn bit her lip. "Those who fought with him in Braavos, then. Mikko, Ser Derrick-"

"I'm asking _you_."

She opened her mouth and closed it again, as if she didn't even fully know herself. Typical.. absolutely typical of the Northerners. I turned and started to walk away, when I heard Lady Evalyn speak again.

"My father exiled him to Braavos four years ago," I said. "He could've stayed there… he doesn't have any right to rule… or any desire – you said it yourself, he's a Snow. But Finn came back anyway. Not for a crown or a castle, he did it because… because the North is his home," Her eyes settled on an old archery target in the courtyard. "I think you can understand what it's like to lose your home. Finn doesn't rule over the Lords, he leads them. Protects them."

I gave a short nod. King's Landing was more my home than Dragonstone. The Red Keep, the throne room full of dragon skulls… my bed chambers, when Ashriel visited in the summer… I thought about losing it all. How it felt to lose my chambers, my spirited Ashriel, full of passion. Everything.

"That's why Finn's their Lord?"

"Finn's _not_ a Lord, he never has been. He's… just something else." Evie frowned. "That's why they follow him."

 **Visenya Targaryen – The Great Hall, Winterfell, The North**

Viserys… such an annoying brother. Though, I supposed that there was worse things he could ask me to do – like actually lay with the Bastard- Finn. I'd have to start calling him Finn when I spoke to him.

The Great Hall was dark, illuminated solely by the sunlight that came through a handful of windows. I watched Finn Snow at the table, being informed of something by commoners, who pointed around the map that was unfurled in front of him.

"…You'll have what you need." Finn began to roll up the map, handing it to one of the smallfolk. "Your priorities are the walls, _then_ the Winter Town. We still need somewhere for them to retreat to…"

Finn Snow's dark eyes moved up to see me walk down the Hall. He turned to the men, giving them a nod and leaning on the table, drinking from his horn of ale. It was only then, when I saw Finn without his heavy cloak, I realized his broad shoulders and stocky frame – a typical Northerner. I moved my eyes to a tapestry that hung on the wall beside the table. It was frayed and slightly ripped, but still in one piece. Upon it was a large man and his tall, slender wife. I recognized Lady Evalyn, so small on the tapestry. But the figure beside Evalyn was a boy with jet black hair and bright grey eyes.

"We have a tapestry like that in the Red Keep," I said. "I suppose Aeron's torn us out of it now… I never did like the dress I wore in it." Finn Snow turned his face to examine the tapestry. His brow immediately furrowed and he drank his ale. "Is that you?" I asked, pointing to the boy in the tapestry.

"My brother," Finn Snow said. "He's gone now."

"My condolences," I frowned. Trueborns die and Bastards survive – Draegor and Aeron, Markas and Finn… the Seven played such cruel tricks with our lives. "I lost a brother, also. Draegor…" I remembered him fumbling around the table, trying to pick up his cup of wine without spilling it everywhere. I wanted to remember him as a warrior, a prince but… I don't know. I couldn't. "Aeron killed him in his bed, you know? He was such a great fighter… better than Viserys when he had his sight. And your brother?"

Finn turned his dark eyes on me, speaking lowly. "If you want to talk, talk. But don't use my brother against me…"

"Apologies," I cut Finn Snow off. Back in King's Landing, anyone felt praised and privileged if I even knew of their family. Yet here I was, asking, and he seemed to hate talking about them. Or perhaps he hated talking to _me_ about them. "Viserys doesn't want the throne for power, he wants it for justice. For our brother. The only way to do that is with the edge of a blade." I couldn't help but smile as I cocked my head to the side. "I think that _you_ can understand that."

"I see where Evie gets it from…" Finn moved his eyes away from me and began to leave the Great Hall.

"Gets what from?"

"Talking," Finn said as he walked across the courtyard. "Talking like a Southnor."

I had to supress a chuckle; I didn't know much about Lady Evalyn, but she was smart and fierce. Qualities I admired in any person, but of a woman her age? I wasn't sure I'd seen it before… "She's smart, that one."

"Aye, I know she is."

"Gifted with a strong mind, as women so often are." I followed Finn Snow up the stairs onto the battlements, watching the smallfolk carry stones to plug the holes in the walls. "Men rarely think with anything other than their fists or their…" I made sure Finn caught sight of my eyes lingering below his belt, the corner of my lip pulling ever so gently into a smirk as I brought my violet eyes up to meet his dark ones, "swords." I smiled wider. Finn Snow's brow furrowed for a moment, and he turned his gaze back across the battlements – as though he was embarrassed. He may have been a Northerner and a brute, but he was still a man. More than that, he was a Bastard – born of lust that lingered in his blood. "That's your father's sword, isn't it?" I leant against the battlements, a hand wrapping around the hilt of the greatsword on his waist. "Valyrian steel, if I'm not mistaken?"

"I'm sure you know you're not…" Finn Snow murmured.

"I've heard you're gifted with your sword," I lowered my voice, leaning in closer to catch his gaze.

"I wouldn't say that."

"Well, you've killed a lot men with it…"

"That doesn't make it a gift." Finn's dark eyes met me again. No lust, no passion, just cold and stone-y.

"I'm sure you'll kill many more men with it." I straightened up from the wall, taking a step back from Finn Snow, who still watched me. "Once Aeron marches North, I mean…"

Finn Snow let out a small scoff as he dropped his gaze to his feet. "I was wondering when you were going to bring this up…"

"It's in your interests to march South with us," I said – my voice clear and clipped. No longer low and husky.

"Oh, aye, well, since it turned out _so_ well last time…" He turned and began to walk away.

"Is this all a joke to you?"

"No, I'm quite serious – Winterfell would look _so_ much better with gold krakens-"

"So you're content to just sit and hide away in your castle, fighting each other until Aeron turns his attention back on you?"

"I suppose so," Finn Snow replied. "If you lot don't kill each other first, that is."

An incorrigible Bastard, indeed. Selfish and short-minded. I felt my smile falter and quiver as he continued walking ahead. "I suppose it's true what they of the Northerners!" I hissed. "Stubborn and brute-ish, not a single thought in those thick heads of yours-" I was cut off by Finn chuckle, a smile cracking between his lips. He didn't look quite so threatening when he smiled. "What's funny?"

"That's the first honest thing you've said since you got here."

Well… he wasn't wrong. I let out a sigh. "I know you resent my family…"

"Speak plainly." Finn took a step towards be. "Why should I march South and betray the trust my people have put in me when we're fighting a war because my father did the exact same thing?"

I licked my lips, trying to pry apart my reasons from my words and reassemble them again. It was hard – it went against everything my mother taught me since I was a child.

"You fight the Boltons."

"Aye."

"They support Aeron."

"So?"

"So, he won't take the death of his bannermen lightly."

"If you think he supports them because they support him, you aren't half as clever as I think you are." It was strange, hearing him say that. It was insulting, of course, but mingled with that… all I could focus on was that he thought I was clever.

"That sounds dangerously close to a compliment, Finn Snow."

"It wasn't meant to…" He said in a grunt, quickly pressing his eyes across the grassy plains of the North.

"Why are you fighting them? The Boltons?"

Finn frowned, his eyes narrowing at me. "Is this a trick?"

"Of course it's not a trick. You were exiled from here, and your mother… well, she was…"

"I know who my mother was," Finn Snow snapped.

"You don't like talking about her, do you?"

"I don't care…" Finn insisted, just like Viserys did when he told Rylon Baratheon he was still attending his studies.

"You may have fooled everyone else, but not me." Finn glanced towards me, then back out amongst the plains. "Don't you trust me?"

"No."

I let out a scoff. "The North is your home. And King's Landing is ours. Aeron has our _mother_ as a hostage. He has our sister. When the Boltons had Markas in their dungeons, what did you do?" Finn's eyes dropped towards the courtyard. "Do you know how Viserys the Bold got his name?" Finn didn't answer, but he didn't walk away either. I took this as a signal to continue. "Some years ago, the Ironborn were raiding the shores of the Reach. Viserys accompanied a legion to thwart them- Father hated this idea, of course. He said a Dragon had no place on the field with infantrymen, but… Viserys saw innocent in danger and he acted. He may not have been knighted, but he protects the innocent. He's brave, and he's just and… and he would never command others to do what he himself would not."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you see Viserys as a southern King, but he's not. Not yet. If you support him, you can help mould him _into_ a King. One who can bring peace to the Seven Kingdoms for the next hundred years."

"The last King that cared about the North was called Tohrren Stark-"

"I'm not talking about Tohrren fucking Stark," I snapped, "I'm talking about Viserys."

Finn bit his lip. "I can't march south for Targaryen. Even if I wanted to."

How predictably disappointing. I watched Lady Evalyn walk across the courtyard, conversing with her now-sister and Queen, Haylise Baratheon. "You love your sister," I said, "and you love your people. You're a Bastard and a Northern fool, but I admire your love. Don't march South for _us_. March South for them. Because all of this is in danger. Aeron _will_ come back, and he _will_ burn your keep. Only a Dragon can kill another Dragon."

 **Well guys, I've been finishing writing this in the breaks of the latest GoT episode. Crazy, right? I'm just past the halfway mark. So apologies if this seems a bit rushed in parts because… well, it is. The final chapter will be named '** _ **The Rising of Wolves**_ **' and set in the Riverlands, Winterfell and Castle Black… maybe King's Landing if I'm feeling generous. Oh, fuck it, I might as well – it's the last chapter. Add King's Landing to the list.**


	31. The Rising of Wolves

**Well guys… here we are. The final chapter of** _ **A Reign of Chaos**_ **. I just want to thank everyone for being patient and stick with this throughout. This is, by far, the longest of all the instalments (the next one might be this length – we'll see**. **At over 100k words, it truly is something I'm proud of. Maybe I'd have done some things differently if I had the chance again, but I'm so happy with this.**

 **Aeron Targaryen – The Red Keep, King's Landing, The Crownlands**

The body of Elecia Tyrell lay in front of me. She was pale, the two painted stones rested upon her eyelids as she lay in the middle of the Sept of Baelor. I kept an arm around my Delyth, who sobbed and pressed her kerchief to the corners of her eyes.

"Mother always loved this Sept," Delyth murmured to me, "she said we'd see it together…" I wrapped my arm tighter around her, pressing my lips to her forehead. Delyth's rose-scented, ash-brown hair grazed my nose. "And our child. She'll never know our child…"

"I never knew my grandmother," I reminded Delyth, "there's worse things in the world…"

"I don't want to think about the world," Delyth pressed her face into my neck as she continued snuffling. I looked up to see Lady Theadosia standing across the Sept, next to several other ladies of the court. She was far more curvaceous and womanly than Delyth, being a handful of years older. Her flint-grey eyes rolled as she caught sight of Delyth, and she turned to leave the Sept. I noticed then that I was not the only one looking at Theadosia – Oroville Tyrell was also looking at her.

I saw Lord Oroville crane his ear as Lord Lucian muttered something. I frowned – what could the two of them possibly be talking about now, with Lord Oroville's wife receiving her last rites? I turned back to Delyth, stroking her hair.

"Here," A voice said from behind me – my mother's voice. I smiled and let Delyth walk towards my mother and embrace her. "You still have a mother, sweetheart," mother said to Delyth. I looked over to Laena, who stood next to her mother, Vysella, and Lady Ashriel, who smiled vacantly as she looked around the Sept.

I couldn't help but enjoy it. Laena and Vysella – two dragons with no-one else. I would've felt bad if they hadn't treated me like an outsider growing up – Laena most of all. A prissy brat of a whore. She may have been loyal but she was little more to me than a name. Once I had a child from her… well, I wouldn't need her, but now she feared me – she noticed me. I mattered. I suppose I would keep her around after all – what with Targaryens dropping like flies, my children ought to have an aunt.

 **Orwen Tully – Riverrun, The Riverlands**

My banners assembled across the lush green fields of the Riverlands. Blackwood and Bracken, Mallister and Mooten, Piper and Ryger. Our men weren't the most courageous fighters in Westeros – we were barely fighters, but my House's words were 'Family, Duty, Honour', and I would uphold the words of my forefathers.

"My Lord?" Lord Whent asked me from inside the Hall. "Half?"

"A quarter," I corrected him. "Lucian Lannister may be a trickster, but he's no fool. He won't harass the Riverlands when his entire army is marching South – he'll invoke our men's rage." Whent cast a greying eyebrow over to Lord Frey. "What is it?"

"The Lannister forces haven't marched past our borders yet. There's been no movement south except a detachment of four hundred men."

"Four hundred?" I frowned. "Out of, what, ten thousand? More?"  
"Might I suggest, my Lord, that you leave half your forces here?" Lord Frey suggested. "Should the Lannisters raze the Riverlands in your absence?"

Sixteen thousand men. That left us with eight to march south and support Viserys. I hoped to the Seven that that would be enough. My duty was to the Riverlands, but also to Viserys the Bold. I gave a nod. "See to it."

The doors opened and my beautiful wife, Cecelia entered. Dark blue eyes, ashen hair. She clasped her hands and curtsied to the Lords, who all bowed to her.

"Keep the men ready and horses watered. I want us ready to ride as soon as the King commands," I instructed them. They all nodded. "Long live King Viserys."

"Long live King Viserys," they echoed before exiting the chambers.

I drank the water from my cup and watched Cecelia walk forwards, taking the wooden trout unit in her hand and turning it over. She was nervous.

"You ride south soon?" She asked me. I nodded.

"As soon as King Viserys asks us to. We'll tear that usurper apart…"

" _Bastard_ usurper," Cecelia corrected me. I clenched my jaw and straightened up fully.

"If you want to talk about my son…"

"Natural-born son – and yes, I want to talk about him." Cecelia said curtly, pinching her fingers as she walked around the table. "You'd have him legitimized. Can you not see what this has done? With Aeron Targaryen on the throne-"

"Brandon is my son!" I snapped at her. "Bastard or no, he's my blood. Family, duty honour…"

"Don't you spout those words at me, Orwen Tully. I carried your daughter in my belly. I birthed her, I waddled her – family means more to me than fighting the war for a boy you've barely met."

"I didn't love his mother," I told Cecelia. "I promised you I'd never talk of her, but… Brandon is my boy. My _only_ boy. He loves Melissa where most natural-born children would resent-"

"He's your son." Cecelia put the wooden trout on the table. "Not mine." Cecelia turned around and stormed away, banging open the doors. Outside them, standing with a forlorn face was young Melissa, who scowled at Cecelia and turned to flee down the halls.

 **Evalyn Stark – Winterfell, The North**

"I know this isn't easy for you," I said under my breath as I watched the platinum-haired Targaryen twins walk down besides the long tables that were lined with a handful of Lords. Glover, Mormont, Hornwood, Lady Lorra of House Reed. Finn let out a gruff response and raised his tankard of ale to his lips.

Viserys Targaryen stiffly bowed his head to me while Visenya plunged into an extremely deep curtsy.

"My Lady." Viserys turned his head to Finn. "Snow."

"Viserys…" Finn replied. I nudged him with my elbow. Finn licked his lips and sighed. "I march on the Dreadfort once Winterfell is properly fortified. A month or so…" Finn glanced over to me, and I raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. He rolled his eyes and spoke quietly and quickly, "I'd appreciate your support…" he garbled the words.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Viserys smiled.

Finn clenched his jaw. "I'd appreciate it. I don't need-" Finn was cut off as I put a hand on his shoulder. He took a breath and swallowed his anger. "It would mean a lot if you supported our family's claim…"

"So, you'd ask for my help in a time of war, when-"

"My Kingly brother," Visenya interrupted Viserys, "is grateful for the trust and faith you are placing in him. Aren't you?" Visenya growled the words to Viserys, who let out a short pant of exasperation.

"Whose family?" Viserys asked me.

"Excuse me?" I frowned.

"Whose family?" Viserys rested a wrist on the hilt of his sword. "I mean, My Lady, you are a Baratheon by law… you can't reclaim the North in the name of House Stark _without_ a Stark…"

"My sister's name may have changed, but she's still a Stark," Finn said curtly. "She always will be."

Something swelled within my chest. It felt like pride and happiness, but I suppose it was just love. Finn was right – it was him and me now, but that didn't mean the world was against us. He was listening to me, just as Viserys was listening to his sister.

"The Northmen will follow a Southern House?" Viserys paced over towards the tapestry of our family. The one that Tylan and Finn were not on.

"I wouldn't say that but…" Finn sighed, "I suppose I'll have to marry. A Northern House to bolster our claim-"

"When the war is over, men grow idle," Visenya said. "They argue and vie for power – they surely will do so when it's a- a Snow and a Baratheon ruling the North."

"Lady Lorra of House Reed," I said to Finn, "Lady Alara of House Hornwood… both strong northern houses that will surely preserve the remains of our father's House."

I noticed Ladies Lorra and Alara cast a look at each other. Lady Lorra was flushed slightly – she was no great beauty by any standards, what with her wide flat nose and weathered skin, being only a year my elder… though, her eyes could be enticing, I imagined. Deep green and murky like the swamps House Reed hailed from.

Lady Alara didn't blush like Lady Lorra. Instead, her flint grey eyes remained fixed on the ground, away from her father. She

"Winterfell will remain under my sister's control," Finn informed the Targaryens. After marching on the Dreadfort, we'll rebuild our forces and await an assault from the South…"

"These men already follow you." Viserys frowned, walking forwards. "Bastard or not, they look to you to lead them."

"Aye, to lead them. Not rule over them," Finn stated. "I'm a bastard. A Snow."

"And I am the rightful King," Viserys cocked an eyebrow, his wrist resting upon the pommel of Dark Sister. "During the Iron Raids, your father travelled South and saved my mother. The North is the biggest of the Seven Kingdoms. For too long we've seen you as being less than us – unworthy of our attention. Forgotten and left to tend to your own affairs…" Viserys took a step back, drawing his sword. "Allow me to repay the kindness your father showed my mother."

I glanced to Finn, who mirrored my expression of confusion. I didn't know if this was a trick either. Finn rose to his feet, leaving Ice in it's sheath, belt wrapped around the spire of his chair. He walked around the table and faced Viserys.

"Kneel," Viserys ordered Finn, who did as he was bid. "House Stark has led the North for over a thousand years! Their name may be gone, but their blood is not!" Viserys announced. "I, Viserys of House Targaryen, Rightful King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, Defender of the Realm and Lord of Dragonstone, do hereby legitimize you." Viserys padded the thin blade of Dark Sister upon each of Finn's large shoulders before lowering it to one side. "You knelt as Finn Snow," Viserys said, "rise as Finn Stark, Warden of the North."

Finn stood up on a shaking knee as the Lords erupted into stomps of their tankards and hands against the table.

Finn looked so much like our father. More so than myself or Markas or Tylan – dressed in that wolf's fur cloak, his dark hair tied back and his dark eyes flickering over to me. Some small part of me was jealous, I knew this. I was a Baratheon, and he was now named Stark.

But I wouldn't let myself show him this – I knew that it was wrong to feel that way. I pushed the thought deep down into my belly and raised my cup of wine to Finn, rising to my feet.

"Lord Finn Stark," I said, wiping a smile across my mouth and watching the Lords echo my words. Finn looked dazed – abashed, even. He'd always been my brother. I knew he was a bastard, a Snow, but he'd always been a Stark. To me, to Markas, to Tylan and to father, he shared our blood. He was as much a Stark as I was.

I so wanted other Lords to be here for this. All those that had mocked him, spat on him and looked down on him for being a Snow. Finn, the Black Wolf, was now named a Stark.

Viserys grasped Finn's arm and slapped his shoulder. Visenya stood a little to the side, her eyes settled on me. Not Finn or Viserys, no, she just watched me with great focus. Unsmiling, yet un-frowning, her brow creased slightly.

She was worried.

 **Julian – Castle Black, The Wall, The North**

I opened the door to the room Igne was kept in. Thank the Seven Dalton Lannister had been assigned guard duty – I only needed to offer to take his watch and he was now soundly asleep in bed.

I wrapped my hand around the weirwood shaft of her spear. I supposed that there was no turning back after this. But I didn't care that Aleksander Karstark was Lord Commander. I didn't care who I was betraying. Nothing could condone this madness of his…

I opened the door and walked towards Igne, who was still awake, rubbing her wrists. I rested her spear against the wall and leant down, inserting the small iron key into the padlock and unwrapping the chains from around her.

"Julian?" Igne looked to her spear.

"There's no turning back now," I muttered, offering her a hand and pulling her to her feet. I offered the spear but didn't let go as she gripped it. "We need to find the other Dragonhorns. Stop the Lord Commander from finding them. Promise you'll help me."

She gave a short nod and I let go of the spear. I turned around and peered out of the door. "There's a tunnel below the Wall - it's the only way beyond." I turned back to Igne, staring into her red eyes. "We need to steal a horse."

Igne nodded. "I can do that…"

"Quietly?"

"More quieter than you…" Igne raised an eyebrow, walking past me and into the courtyard.

"'Quiet'," I murmured to myself, "more quiet or quieter…"

Out in the courtyard, I watched the winch wind in the iron chains until it came to a halt after ten minutes – the gate was now open. As I walked to the entrance of the tunnel, I felt the cold breeze rush through.

It'd been so many months since I left King's Landing. Back then, when I saw Castle Black as being as far north as north goes. Now here I was, ready to head beyond that.

I grabbed the reins of the black horse, Duncan, and led it down the tunnel, with Igne mounted on him. After days on end being shackled up, she needed to get her strength back.

We had been travelling down that long, winding road for a while before a loud whistle sounded, and Duncan stopped ambling. I frowned, pulling on the reins, but he remain standing still.

"Julian…" Igne muttered, looking over her shoulder. I turned to look down the tunnel and see firelight. Three torches lighting from one and figures dismounting horses.

"I had hoped you would've seen sense before it came to this Julian…" the firelight revealed the weathered, mournful face of Lord Commander Karstark. Beside him was Kenn Stark, Dalton Lannister and Will Blackwood. All of them armed with swords.

"My Lord…" I said quietly, facing them directly, "please, just let me do this…"

"Do what?" Kenn Stark growled in his worn voice. "Free our prisoners? Desert your brothers? Break your vows?"

I bit my lip, looking down to the ground. I was doing all that. But things weren't as black and white – I was choosing what I was loyal to. And that was life – Wildling or not.

"Yes," I said with a nod. "But someone has to help them…"

"Help them?" Lord Karstark scowled. "By betraying your brothers? That girl has information that can help us win this war against them! We could save the Seven Kingdoms forevermore! We could summon the Ice Dragon- control it…"

I found it hard to believe what I was hearing. The Night's Watch was an ancient and honourable order. Yet here stood the Father of the Watch, our Lord Commander, talking of using the Ice Dragon as a weapon. Just as the Targaryens used dragons in Storm's End, leaving it a pile of rubble.

"There's no man living that needs that power."

"No need?" Karstark growled. "We are the Watchers on the Wall – we have the responsibility to guard-"

"All we're responsible for is the deaths of people we have been slaughtering for centuries!" I shouted back. "Your mad schemes, your blood lust – I won't have any part in it." I drew my sword. "Not again."

"I will not let you destroy our legacy!" Karstark drew his blade and slashed at me. I took a step back, batting his sword away and quickly moving out of the way of Kenn Stark's thrust. I kicked back Karstark and looked to see Igne swipe her spear at Kenn Stark, slicing it across his face. My stomach tightened as I watched the old man fall to the ground, clutching his face and screaming as the torches dropped to the ground beside him.

Dalton swung his sword at me, but I quickly blocked the blow and wrenched the sword from his hand, barging my shoulder into him and knocking him to the ground. Dalton held out a hand, shaking his head and voice cracking.

"Please Julian," He almost sobbed, "we're brothers! We swore an oath…" He whimpered, crawling backwards. "Please!"

I let out a yell as I swung the blade down on him. A clang resonated throughout the tunnel as my blade was brought down onto Will's, who glared at me, shoving me away from Dalton.

"Don't make me do this, Julian…" Will shook his head.

"I don't have a choice, Will!"

"How many times did I protect you?" Will growled. "And this how you repay me? Throwing your lot in with _them_?"

I raised my sword, the point of it catching the firelight as it came closer to Will's blade. "Someone has to protect them."

"Oh Julian…" Will seethed as he clenched his fist around the hilt of his sword, "champion of the wildlings!" He beat his sword against mine, sending me stumbling backwards. "Hero of the Free Folk!" He clanged his sword against mine. "Saviour of Men Beyond the Wall!"

"I'm trying to save everyone from _him_!"

"He's our father, Julian. We protect our family!"

"And who protects everyone else?"

We were cut off by a groan as Igne sank the spearhead deep into Karstark's thigh and twisted her spear. Dalton remained on the floor, hands covering his ears as Kenn Stark crawled towards him, hand still covering his face.

"Kill him!" Karstark spat at Will. "Kill the treacherous bastard!"

"Let us go, Crow," Igne hissed at Will, "or I'll slit King Crow's throat."

"Kill him Will!" Karstark shouted – a shout that twisted into groans as Igne twisted her spear once again. Will dropped his sword to the ground, eyes fixed on her. He kicked the blade over to me. I picked it up and began to back down the tunnel towards the horse, which was still fairly spooked from the screams and rings of metal.

I mounted Duncan and waited for Igne to remove her spear. She ran down the tunnel – faster than any man I knew, and much faster than any other girl that had been chained to a post for days. She grasped my hand and clambered onto the back of the horse as I galloped away into the darkness of the North.

The True North.

 **So guys… that's it. That's the third instalment. Clocking in at 100,000 words, this is by far the longest instalment. In fact, I think this is the longest SYOC series done on this site before – making history, people.**

 **Okay, no. 1 – A ma-hoossive thank you to everyone. This couldn't have been possible without you.**

 **No. 2 – Are there any 'fan service'y things you'd like to see in the last instalment? I.e. in the show, I was waiting for that Jon/Arya reunion – is anyone waiting for any scene in particular?**

 **No. 3 – Characters! As you can expect, in the new book, there's gonna be a lot of tying up loose ends so… well, I'm not really gonna need any new characters. There is one I got at the start of this series that I want to use but… that's a whole other thing. Basically, ask before sending in a character.**

 **No. 4 – I'll start writing the next instalment in a month (give or take a few days). I have one more massive piece of coursework due in 20 days which I've… well, I've not even thought up the title… or my topic. BUT, the only thing I have after that is my disso, which is due in September so I'll have 3 months to write the next instalment, which will definitely** _ **not**_ **be as long as this one.**

 **No. 5 – Sequels/Prequels. Tell me what you'd prefer. Without giving too much away, my idea for my next project will either be something that blends these established characters with new ones, or it'll revolve entirely around new people you've not even heard of. Say what you want.**

 **Okay, I'm outtie. For the next instalment, expect epic battles, betrayal, some political manoeuvring and the culmination of over a year and a half's writing in '** _ **A Throne of Ruin**_ **'.**

 **R.**


	32. THotD4: The Rise of Dragons Update

**Hey guys.**

 **I'll keep it brief – I'm planning the story for the last instalment (and oh my God, just because I've been revising and redrafting it, there are some of the best moments of the series coming up), and I don't want to keep you guys hanging, so I figured I'd write a little prequel as well. It'll be 15 chapters or less… well, less than 20 – you know what I'm like.**

 **Anyhoo, yeah, I've dropped the link at the bottom, so follow and review and whatever. The first chapter is up, and the second will be up by tonight (in the UK, at least).**

 **13328480/1/Three-Heads-of-the-Dragon-4-The-Rise-of-Dragons**

 **Alright, see you there!**

 **R.**


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